moralists, poisoned metaphysics and turned the sentiments of the heart into a burlesque by their affectation and their unrefined, even vulgar attempts at gallantry.  They culled choice expressions and epigrams from the literature of the day, employing their memories to conceal their paucity of original wit, and practised upon their imaginations to obtain a salacious philosophy, which consisted of sodden ideas, flat in their expression, stale and unattractive in their adaptation.

Ninon’s coterie was the very opposite, consisting as it did of the very flower of the nobility and the choicest spirits of the age, who banished dry and sterile erudition, and sparkled with the liveliest wit and polite accomplishments.  There were some who eluded the vigilance of Ninon’s shrewd scrutiny, and made their way into her inner circle, but they were soon forced to abandon their pretensions by their inability to maintain any standing among a class of men who were so far beyond them in rank and attainments.

Not long after her return to the pleasures of society, after the convent episode, Ninon was called upon to mourn the demise of her father.  M. de l’Enclos was one of the fortunate men of the times who escaped the dangers attendant upon being on the wrong side in politics.  For some inscrutable reason, he took sides with Cardinal de Retz, and on that account was practically banished from Paris and compelled to be satisfied with the rough annoyances of camp life instead of being able to put in practice the pleasant precepts of his philosophy.  He was finally permitted to return to Paris with his head safe upon his shoulders, and flattered himself with the idea that he could now make up for lost time, promising himself to enjoy to the full the advantages offered by his daughter’s establishment.  He embraced his daughter with the liveliest pleasure imaginable, taking upon himself all the credit for her great reputation as due to his efforts and to his philosophical training.  He was flattered at the success of his lessons and entered upon a life of joyous pleasure with as much zest as though in the bloom of his youth.  It proved too much for a constitution weakened by the fatigues of years of arduous military campaigns and he succumbed, the flesh overpowered by the spirit, and took to his bed, where he soon reached a condition that left his friends no hope of his recuperation.

Aware that the end was approaching, he sent for his daughter, who hastened to his side and shed torrents of tears.  But he bade her remember the lessons she had learned from his philosophy, and wishing to give her one more lesson, said in an almost expiring voice: 

“Approach nearer, Ninon; you see nothing left me but a sad memory of the pleasures that are leaving me.  Their possession was not of long duration, and that is the only complaint I have to make against nature.  But, alas! my regrets are vain.  You who must survive me, utilize precious time, and have no scruples about the quantity of your pleasures, but only of their quality.”