You think, then, Marquis, that you have brought up an invincible
argument, when you tell me that one is not the master of his own
heart, in disposing of it where he wishes, and that consequently you
are not at liberty to choose the object of your attachment? Morals of
the opera! Abandon this commonplace to women who expect, in saying so,
to justify their weaknesses. It is very necessary that they should
have something to which to cling: like the gentleman of whom our
friend Montaigne speaks who, when the gout attacked him, would have
been very angry if he had not been able to say: "Cursed ham!" They say
it is a sympathetic stroke. That is too strong for me. Is anyone
master of his heart? He is no longer permitted to reply when such good
reasons are given. They have even so well sanctioned these maxims that
they wish to attract everyone to their arms in order to try to
overcome them. But these same maxims find so much approbation only
because everyone is interested in having them received. No one
suspects that such excuses, far from justifying caprices, may be a
confession that one does not wish to correct them.

For myself, I take the liberty of being of a different opinion from
the multitude. It is enough for me that it is not impossible to
conquer one's inclination to condemn all those who are unreasonable or
dishonorable. Dear me! Have we not seen women succeed in destroying in
their hearts a weakness which has taken them by surprise, as soon as
they have discovered that the object of their affections was unworthy
of them? How often have they stifled the most tender affection, and
sacrificed it to the conventionalities of an establishment? Rest,
time, absence, are remedies which passion, however ardent one may have
supposed it, can never resist; insensibly it weakens, and dies all at
once. I know that to withdraw honorably from such a liaison requires
all the strength of reason. I comprehend still more, that the