Monsieur Patissot was growing angry, and exclaimed: 

“And how about Madame Sand, monsieur?”

“She is the one exception, monsieur, the one exception.  I will quote to you another passage from another great philosopher, this one an Englishman, Herbert Spencer.  Here is what he says:  ’Each sex is capable, under the influence of abnormal stimulation, of manifesting faculties ordinarily reserved for the other one.  Thus, for instance, in extreme cases a special excitement may cause the breasts of men to give milk; children deprived of their mothers have often thus been saved in time of famine.  Nevertheless, we do not place this faculty of giving milk among the male attributes.  It is the same with female intelligence, which, in certain cases, will give superior products, but which is not to be considered in an estimate of the feminine nature as a social factor.’”

All Monsieur Patissot’s chivalric instincts were wounded and he declared: 

“You are not a Frenchman, monsieur.  French gallantry is a form of patriotism.”

Monsieur Rade retorted: 

“I have very little patriotism, monsieur, as little as I can get along with.”

A coolness settled over the company, but he continued quietly: 

“Do you admit with me that war is a barbarous thing; that this custom of killing off people constitutes a condition of savagery; that it is odious, when life is the only real good, to see governments, whose duty is to protect the lives of their subjects, persistently looking for means of destruction?  Am I not right?  Well, if war is a terrible thing, what about patriotism, which is the idea at the base of it?  When a murderer kills he has a fixed idea; it is to steal.  When a good man sticks his bayonet through another good man, father of a family, or, perhaps, a great artist, what idea is he following out?”

Everybody was shocked.

“When one has such thoughts, one should not express them in public.”

M. Patissot continued: 

“There are, however, monsieur, principles which all good people recognize.”

M. Rade asked:  “Which ones?”

Then very solemnly, M. Patissot pronounced:  “Morality, monsieur.”

M. Rade was beaming; he exclaimed: 

“Just let me give you one example, gentlemen, one little example.  What is your opinion of the gentlemen with the silk caps who thrive along the boulevard’s on the delightful traffic which you know, and who make a living out of it?”

A look of disgust ran round the table: 

“Well, gentlemen! only a century ago, when an elegant gentleman, very ticklish about his honor, had for—­friend—­a beautiful and rich lady, it was considered perfectly proper to live at her expense and even to squander her whole fortune.  This game was considered delightful.  This only goes to show that the principles of morality are by no means settled—­and that—­”