But you say nothing, not knowing what you should say.  Lacking self-confidence and ignorant of yourself, you have made it a virtue to keep silence and not wake your husband while he sleeps; you have got into the habit of walking on the tips of your toes so as not to disturb the household, and your husband, in the midst of this refreshing half-sleep, has begun to yawn luxuriously; then he has gone out to his club, where he has been received like the prodigal son, while you, poor poet without pen or ink, have consoled yourself by watching your sisters follow the same road as yourself.

You have, all of you, ladies, your pockets full of manuscripts, charming poems, delightful romances; it is a reader who is lacking to you, and your husband takes up his hat and stick at the very sight of your handwriting; he firmly believes that there are no more romances except those already in print.  From having read so many, he considers that no more can be written.

This state of things I regard as absolutely detestable.  I look upon you, my dear sisters, as poor victims, and if you will permit I will give you my opinion on the subject.

Esteem and friendship between husband and wife are like our daily bread, very pleasant and respectable; but a little jam would not spoil that, you will admit!  If, therefore, one of your friends complains of the freedom that reigns in this little book, let her talk on and be sure beforehand that this friend eats dry bread.  We have described marriage as we think it should be—­depicting smiling spouses, delighted to be together.

Is it because love is rare as between husband and wife that it is considered unbecoming to relate its joys?  Is it regret, or envy, that renders you fastidious on the subject, sisters?  Reserve your blushes for the pictures of that society of courtesans where love is an article of commerce, where kisses are paid for in advance.  Regard the relation of these coarse pleasures as immodest and revolting, be indignant, scold your brethren—­I will admit that you are in the right beforehand; but for Heaven’s sake do not be offended if we undertake your defence, when we try to render married life pleasant and attractive, and advise husbands to love their wives, wives to love their husbands.

You must understand that there is a truly moral side to all this.  To prove that you are adorable; that there are pleasures, joys, happiness, to be found outside the society of those young women—­such is our object; and since we are about to describe it, we venture to hope that after reflecting for a few minutes you will consider our intentions praiseworthy, and encourage us to persevere in them.

I do not know why mankind has chosen to call marriage a man-trap, and all sorts of frightful things; to stick up all round it boards on which one reads:  “Beware of the sacred ties of marriage;” “Do not jest with the sacred duties of a husband;” “Meditate on the sacred obligation of a father of a family;” “Remember that the serious side of life is beginning;” “No weakness; henceforth you are bound to find yourself face to face with stern reality,” etc., etc.