I am to dine to-night with the Marquis de la Rochefoucauld.  Madame de la Sabliere and La Fontaine will also be guests.  If it please you to be one of us, La Fontaine will regale you with two new stories, which, I am told, do not disparage his former ones.  Come Marquis—­But, again a scruple.  Have I nothing to fear in the undertaking we contemplate?  Love is so malicious and fickle!  Still, when I examine my heart, I do not feel any apprehension for myself, it being occupied elsewhere, and the sentiments I possess toward you resemble love less than friendship.  If the worst should happen and I lose my head some day, we shall know how to withdraw in the easiest possible manner.

We are going to take a course of morals together.  Yes, sir, morals!  But do not be alarmed at the mere word, for there will be between us only the question of gallantry to discuss, and that, you know, sways morals to so high a degree that it deserves to be the subject of a special study.  The very idea of such a project is to me infinitely risible.  However, if I talk reason to you too often, will you not grow weary?  This is my sole anxiety, for you well know that I am a pitiless reasoner when I wish to be.  With any other heart than that which you misunderstand, I could be a philosopher such as the world never knew.

Adieu, I await your good pleasure.

II

Why Love is Dangerous

I assure you, Marquis, I shall keep my word, and on all occasions, I shall speak the truth, even though it be to my own detriment.  I have more stability in my disposition than you imagine, and I fear exceedingly that the result of our intercourse may sometimes lead you to think that I carry this virtue into severity.  But you must remember that I have only the external appearance of a woman, and that in mind and heart I am a man.  Here is the method that I wish to follow with you.  As I ask only to acquire information for myself before communicating to you my ideas, my intention is to propound them to the excellent man with whom we supped yesterday.  It is true that he has none too good an opinion of poor humanity.  He believes neither in virtue nor in spiritual things.  But this inflexibility, mitigated by my indulgence for human frailties, will give you, I believe, the kind and the quantity of philosophy which is required in all intercourse with women.  Let us come to the gist of your letter.

Since your entrance into the world it has offered you nothing, you say, of what you had imagined you would find there.  Disgust and weariness follow you everywhere.  You seek solitude, and as soon as you are enjoying it, it wearies you.  In a word, you do not know to what cause to attribute the restlessness which torments you.  I am going to save you the trouble, I am, for my burden is to speak my thoughts on everything that may perplex you; and I do not know but you will often ask me questions as embarrassing for me to answer as they may have been for you to ask.