Look at two women meeting in the street.  What an attitude each assumes towards the other!  What disparaging looks!  What contempt they throw into each glance!  How they toss their heads while they inspect each other to find something to condemn!  And, if the footpath is narrow, do you think one woman would make room for another, or would beg pardon as she sweeps by?  Never!  When two men jostle each other by accident in some narrow lane, each of them bows and at the same time gets out of the other’s way, while we women press against each other stomach to stomach, face to face, insolently staring each other out of countenance.

Look at two women who are acquaintances meeting on a staircase outside the door of a friend’s drawing-room, one of them just leaving, the other about to go in.  They begin to talk to each other and block up all the landing.  If anyone happens to be coming up behind them, man or woman, do you imagine that they will put themselves half an inch out of their way?  Never! never!

I was waiting myself, with my watch in my hands, one day last winter at a certain drawing-room door.  And, behind me, two gentlemen were also waiting without showing any readiness, as I did, to lose their temper.  The reason was that they had long grown accustomed to our unconscionable insolence.

The other day, before leaving Paris, I went to dine with no less a person than your husband, in the Champs Elysees, in order to enjoy the fresh air.  Every table was occupied.  The waiter asked us to wait and there would soon be a vacant table.

At that moment I noticed an elderly lady of noble figure, who, having paid for her dinner, seemed on the point of going away.  She saw me, scanned me from head to foot, and did not budge.  For more than a quarter of an hour she sat there, immovable, putting on her gloves, and calmly staring at those who were waiting like myself.  Now, two young men who were just finishing their dinner, having seen me in their turn, hastily summoned the waiter, paid what they owed, and at once offered me their seats, even insisting on standing while waiting for their change.  And, bear in mind, my fair niece, that I am no longer pretty, like you, but old and white-haired.

It is we, you see, who should be taught politeness, and the task would be such a difficult one that Hercules himself would not be equal to it.  You speak to me about Etretat and about the people who indulged in “tittle-tattle” along the beach of that delightful watering-place.  It is a spot now lost to me, a thing of the past, but I found much amusement therein days gone by.

There were only a few of us, people in good society, really good society, and a few artists, and we all fraternized.  We paid little attention to gossip in those days.

As we had no monotonous Casino, where people only gather for show, where they whisper, where they dance stupidly, where they succeed in thoroughly boring one another, we sought some other way of passing our evenings pleasantly.  Now, just guess what came into the head of one of our husbands?  Nothing less than to go and dance each night in one of the farm-houses in the neighborhood.