You are very queer, you men.  You consider yourselves offended because a woman does not respond with eagerness to the languishing looks you deign to cast upon her.  Your revolted pride immediately accuses her of injustice, as if it were her fault that your head is turned; as if she were obliged, at a certain stage, to be seized with the same disease as you.  Tell me this:  is the Countess responsible if she is not afflicted with the same delirium as soon as you begin to rave?  Cease, then, to accuse her and to complain, and to try to communicate your malady to her; I know you, you are seductive enough.  Perhaps she will feel, too soon for her peace of mind, sentiments commensurate with your desires.  I believe she has in her everything to subjugate you, and to inspire you with the taste I hope will be for your happiness, but so far, I do not think she is susceptible of a very serious attachment.

Vivacious, inconsistent, positive, decided, she can not fail to give you plenty of exercise.  An attentive and caressing woman would weary you; you must be handled in a military fashion, if you are to be amused and retained.  As soon as the mistress assumes the role of lover, love begins to weaken; it does more, it rises like a tyrant, and ends in disdain which leads directly to disgust and inconstancy.  Have you found, perchance, everything you required in the little mistress who is the cause of your dolorous martyrdom?  Poor Marquis!  What storms will blow over you.  What quarrels I foresee!  How many vexations, how many threats to leave her!  But do not forget this:  So much emotion will become your punishment, if you treat love after the manner of a hero of romance, and you will meet a fate entirely the contrary if you treat it like a reasonable man.

But ought I to continue to write you?  The moments you employ to read my letters will be so many stolen from love.  Great Heavens! how I should like to be a witness of your situations!  Indeed, for a sober-minded person, is there a spectacle more amusing than the contortions of a man in love?

XIII

Vanity Is a Fertile Soil for Love.

You are not satisfied, then, Marquis, with what I so cavalierly said about your condition?  You wish me by all means to consider your adventure as a serious thing, but I shall take good care not to do so.  Do you not see that my way of treating you is consistent with my principles?  I speak lightly of a thing I believe to be frivolous, or simply amusing.  When it comes to an affair on which depends a lasting happiness, you will see me take on an appropriate tone.  I do not want to pity you, because it depends upon yourself whether you are to be pitied or not.  By a trick of your imagination, what now appears to be a pain to you may become a pleasure.  To succeed, make use of my recipe and you will find it good.  But to refer to the second paragraph of your letter: