Women are under no ordinary embarrassment.  They desire for the very least, as much to confess their affection as you are anxious to ascertain it, but what do you expect, Marquis?  Women ingenious at raising obstacles, have attached a certain shame to any avowal of their passion, and whatever idea you men may have formed of our way of thinking, such an avowal always humiliates us, for however small may be our experience, we comprehend all the consequences.  The words “I love you” are not criminal, that is true, but their sequel frightens us, hence we find means to dissimulate, and close our eyes to the liabilities they carry with them.

Besides this, be on your guard; your persistence in requiring an open avowal from the Countess, is less the work of love than a persevering vanity.  I defy you to find a mistake in the true motives behind your insistence.  Nature has given woman a wonderful instinct; it enables her to discern without mistake whatever grows out of a passion in one who is a stranger to her.  Always indulgent toward the effects produced by a love we have inspired, we will pardon you many imprudences, many transports; how can I enumerate them all?  All the follies of which you lovers are capable, we pardon, but you will always find us intractable when our self-esteem meets your own.  Who would believe it?  You inspire us to revolt at things that have nothing to do with your happiness.  Your vanity sticks at trifles, and prevents you from enjoying actual advantages.  Will you believe me when I say it?  You will drop your idle fancies, to delight in the certainty that you are beloved by an adorable woman; to taste the pleasure of hiding the extent of her love from herself, to rejoice in its security.  Suppose by force of importunities you should extract an “I love you,” what would you gain by it?  Would your uncertainty reach an end?  Would you know whether you owe the avowal to love or complaisance?  I think I know women, I ought to.  They can deceive you by a studied confession which the lips only pronounce, but you will never be the involuntary witness of a passion you force from them.  The true, flattering avowals we make, are not those we utter, but those that escape us without our knowledge.

XXIII

Two Irreconcilable Passions in Women

Will you pardon me, Marquis, for laughing at your afflictions?  You take things too much to heart.  Some imprudences, you say, have drawn upon you the anger of the Countess, and your anxiety is extreme.  You kissed her hand with an ecstasy that attracted the attention of everybody present.  She publicly reprimanded you for your indiscretion, and your marked preference for her, always offensive to other women, has exposed you to the railleries of the Marquise, her sister-in-law.  Dear me, these are without contradiction terrible calamities!  What, are you simple enough to believe that you are lost beyond salvation because of an outward manifestation of anger, and you do not even suspect that inwardly you are justified?  You impose upon me the burden of convincing you of the fact, and in doing so I am forced to reveal some strange mysteries concerning women.  But, I do not intend, in writing you, to be always apologizing for my sex.  I owe you frankness, however, and having promised it I acquit myself of the promise.