"Yes, I know," he said, shouting louder than all of us; "you are talking
of what is believed to exist, and I am talking of what is. Every man
feels what you call love toward each pretty woman he sees, and very
little toward his wife. That is the origin of the proverb,--and it is
a true one,--'Another's wife is a white swan, and ours is bitter
wormwood."'

"Ah, but what you say is terrible! There certainly exists among human
beings this feeling which is called love, and which lasts, not for
months and years, but for life."

"No, that does not exist. Even if it should be admitted that Menelaus
had preferred Helen all his life, Helen would have preferred Paris; and
so it has been, is, and will be eternally. And it cannot be otherwise,
just as it cannot happen that, in a load of chick-peas, two peas marked
with a special sign should fall side by side. Further, this is not only
an improbability, but it is certain that a feeling of satiety will come
to Helen or to Menelaus. The whole difference is that to one it comes
sooner, to the other later. It is only in stupid novels that it is
written that 'they loved each other all their lives.' And none but
children can believe it. To talk of loving a man or woman for life is
like saying that a candle can burn forever."

"But you are talking of physical love. Do you not admit a love based
upon a conformity of ideals, on a spiritual affinity?"

"Why not? But in that case it is not necessary to procreate together
(excuse my brutality). The point is that this conformity of ideals is
not met among old people, but among young and pretty persons," said he,
and he began to laugh disagreeably.