But you do not understand me, and many other women will also not understand me, and think me stupid, though that matters very little to me.  Hungry men eat like gluttons, but people of refinement are disgusted at it, and they often feel an invincible dislike for a dish, on account of a mere trifle.  It is the same with love, as it is with cookery.

What I cannot comprehend, for example, is, that certain women who fully understand the irresistible attraction of fine, embroidered stockings, the exquisite charm of shades, the witchery of valuable lace concealed in the depths of their underclothing, the exciting jest of hidden luxury, and all the subtle delicacies of female elegance, never understand the invincible disgust with which words that are out of place, or foolishly tender, inspire us.

At times coarse and brutal expressions work wonders, as they excite the senses, and make the heart beat, and they are allowable at the hours of combat.  Is not that sentence of Cambronne’s sublime? [10]

[Footnote 10:  At Waterloo, General Cambronne is reported to have said, when called on to surrender:—­The Guard dies, but does not surrender. But according to Victor Hugo, in Les Miserables, he used the expression Merde! which cannot be put into English fit for ears polite.—­TRANSLATOR.]

Nothing shocks us that comes at the right time; but then, we must also know when to hold our tongue, and to avoid phrases a la Paul de Kock, at certain moments.

And I embrace you passionately, on the condition that you say nothing,

RENE.

A DIVORCE CASE

M. Chassel advocate, rises to speak:  Mr. President and gentlemen of the jury.  The cause that I am charged to defend before you, requires medicine rather than justice; and is much more a case of pathology than a case of ordinary law.  At first blush the facts seem very simple.

A young man, very rich, with a noble and cultivated mind, and a generous heart, becomes enamored of a young lady, who is the perfection of beauty, more than beautiful, in fact; she is adorable, besides being as gracious, as she is charming, as good and true as she is tender and pretty, and he marries her.  For some time, he comports himself towards her not only as a devoted husband, but as a man full of solicitude and tenderness.  Then he neglects her, misuses her, seems to entertain for her an insurmountable aversion, an irresistible disgust.  One day he even strikes her, not only without any cause, but also without the faintest pretext.  I am not going, gentlemen, to draw a picture of silly allurements, which no one would comprehend.  I shall not paint to you the wretched life of those two beings, and the horrible grief of this young woman.  It will be sufficient to convince you, if I read some fragments from a journal written up every day by that poor young man, by that poor fool!  For it is in the presence of a fool, gentlemen, that we now find ourselves, and the case is all the more curious, all the more interesting, seeing that, in many points, it recalls the insanity of the unfortunate prince who recently died, of the witless king who reigned platonically over Bavaria.  I shall hence designate this case—­poetic folly.