--which will serve to complete our picture of this excellent woman's
nature:--

Mademoiselle Cormon regarded it as one of her duties to talk; not that
she was talkative, for she had unfortunately too few ideas, and did
not know enough phrases to converse readily. But she believed she was
accomplishing one of the social duties enjoined by religion, which
orders us to make ourselves agreeable to our neighbor. This obligation
cost her so much that she consulted her director, the Abbe Couturier,
upon the subject of this honest but puerile civility. In spite of the
humble remark of his penitent, confessing the inward labor of her mind
in finding anything to say, the old priest, rigid on the point of
discipline, read her a passage from Saint-Francois de Sales on the
duties of women in society, which dwelt on the decent gayety of pious
Christian women, who were bound to reserve their sternness for
themselves, and to be amiable and pleasing in their homes, and see
that their neighbors enjoyed themselves. Thus, filled with a sense of
duty, and wishing, at all costs, to obey her director, who bade her
converse with amenity, the poor soul perspired in her corset when the
talk around her languished, so much did she suffer from the effort of
emitting ideas in order to revive it. Under such circumstances she
would put forth the silliest statements, such as: "No one can be in
two places at once--unless it is a little bird," by which she one day
roused, and not without success, a discussion on the ubiquity of the
apostles, which she was unable to comprehend. Such efforts at
conversation won her the appellation of "that good Mademoiselle
Cormon," which, from the lips of the beaux esprits of society, means
that she was as ignorant as a carp, and rather a poor fool; but many
persons of her own calibre took the remark in its literal sense, and
answered:--