After this exemplary punishment, Sophy’s father goes about his business, and her mother makes some excuse for sending her out of the room; then she speaks to Emile very seriously.  “Sir,” she says, “I think a young man so well born and well bred as yourself, a man of feeling and character, would never reward with dishonour the confidence reposed in him by the friendship of this family.  I am neither prudish nor over strict; I know how to make excuses for youthful folly, and what I have permitted in my own presence is sufficient proof of this.  Consult your friend as to your own duty, he will tell you there is all the difference in the world between the playful kisses sanctioned by the presence of father and mother, and the same freedom taken in their absence and in betrayal of their confidence, a freedom which makes a snare of the very favours which in the parents’ presence were wholly innocent.  He will tell you, sir, that my daughter is only to blame for not having perceived from the first what she ought never to have permitted; he will tell you that every favour, taken as such, is a favour, and that it is unworthy of a man of honour to take advantage of a young girl’s innocence, to usurp in private the same freedom which she may permit in the presence of others.  For good manners teach us what is permitted in public; but we do not know what a man will permit to himself in private, if he makes himself the sole judge of his conduct.”

After this well-deserved rebuke, addressed rather to me than to my pupil, the good mother leaves us, and I am amazed by her rare prudence, in thinking it a little thing that Emile should kiss her daughter’s lips in her presence, while fearing lest he should venture to kiss her dress when they are alone.  When I consider the folly of worldly maxims, whereby real purity is continually sacrificed to a show of propriety, I understand why speech becomes more refined while the heart becomes more corrupt, and why etiquette is stricter while those who conform to it are most immoral.

While I am trying to convince Emile’s heart with regard to these duties which I ought to have instilled into him sooner, a new idea occurs to me, an idea which perhaps does Sophy all the more credit, though I shall take care not to tell her lover; this so-called pride, for which she has been censured, is clearly only a very wise precaution to protect her from herself.  Being aware that, unfortunately, her own temperament is inflammable, she dreads the least spark, and keeps out of reach so far as she can.  Her sternness is due not to pride but to humility.  She assumes a control over Emile because she doubts her control of herself; she turns the one against the other.  If she had more confidence in herself she would be much less haughty.  With this exception is there anywhere on earth a gentler, sweeter girl?  Is there any who endures an affront with greater patience, any who is more afraid of annoying others?  Is there any with less pretension, except in the matter of virtue?  Moreover, she is not proud of her virtue, she is only proud in order to preserve her virtue, and if she can follow the guidance of her heart without danger, she caresses her lover himself.  But her wise mother does not confide all this even to her father; men should not hear everything.