When he admires anything he goes into such raptures that he convinces you.  He once adored Victor Hugo, whom he now treats as a back number.  He would have fought for Zola, whom he has abandoned for Barbey and d’Aurevilly.  And when he admires, he permits no limitation, he would slap your face for a word.  But when he becomes scornful, his contempt is unbounded and allows of no protest.

In fact, he understands nothing.

Listen to two girls talking.

“Then you are angry with Julia?” “I slapped her face.”  “What had she done?” “She told Pauline that I had no money thirteen months out of twelve, and Pauline told Gontran—­you understand.”  “You were living together in the Rue Clanzel?” “We lived together four years in the Rue Breda; we quarrelled about a pair of stockings that she said I had worn —­it wasn’t true—­silk stockings that she had bought at Mother Martin’s.  Then I gave her a pounding and she left me at once.  I met her six months ago and she asked me to come and live with her, as she has rented a flat that is twice too large.”

One goes on one’s way and hears no more.  But on the following Sunday as one is on the way to Saint Germain two young women get into the same railway carriage.  One recognizes one of them at once; it is Julia’s enemy.  The other is Julia!

And there are endearments, caresses, plans.  “Say, Julia—­listen, Julia,” etc.

The girl-man has his friendships of this kind.  For three months he cannot bear to leave his old Jack, his dear Jack.  There is no one but Jack in the world.  He is the only one who has any intelligence, any sense, any talent.  He alone amounts to anything in Paris.  One meets them everywhere together, they dine together, walk about in company, and every evening walk home with each other back and forth without being able to part with one another.

Three months later, if Jack is mentioned: 

“There is a drinker, a sorry fellow, a scoundrel for you.  I know him well, you may be sure.  And he is not even honest, and ill-bred,” etc., etc.

Three months later, and they are living together.

But one morning one hears that they have fought a duel, then embraced each other, amid tears, on the duelling ground.

Just now they are the dearest friends in the world, furious with each other half the year, abusing and loving each other by turns, squeezing each other’s hands till they almost crush the bones, and ready to run each other through the body for a misunderstanding.

For the relations of these effeminate men are uncertain.  Their temper is by fits and starts, their delight unexpected, their affection turn-about-face, their enthusiasm subject to eclipse.  One day they love you, the next day they will hardly look at you, for they have in fact a girl’s nature, a girl’s charm, a girl’s temperament, and all their sentiments are like the affections of girls.