Madame de Sévigné does not agree with me upon the causes of love as I
give them. She pretends that many women know it only from its refined
side, and that the senses never count for anything in their heart
affairs. According to her, although what she calls my "system" should
be well founded, it would always be unbecoming in the mouth of a
woman, and might become a precedent in morals.

These are assuredly very serious exceptions, Marquis, but are they
well grounded? I do not think so. I see with pain that Madame de
Sévigné has not read my letters in the spirit I wrote them. What, I
the founder of systems? Truly, she does me too much honor, I have
never been serious enough to devise any system. Besides, according to
my notion, a system is nothing but a philosophic dream, and therefore
does she consider all I have told you as a play of the imagination? In
that case, we are very far out of our reckoning. I do not imagine, I
depict real objects. I would have one truth acknowledged, and to
accomplish that, my purpose is not to surprise the mind; I consult the
sentiments. Perhaps she has been struck by the singularity of some of
my propositions, which appeared to me so evident that I did not think
it worth while to maintain them; but is it necessary to make use of a
mariner's compass to develop the greater or less amount of truth in a
maxim of gallantry?

Moreover, I have such a horror of formal discussions, that I would
prefer to agree to anything rather than engage in them. Madame de
Sévigné, you say, is acquainted with a number of female
metaphysicians--there! there! I will grant her these exceptions,
provided she leaves me the general thesis. I will even admit, if you
so desire, that there are certain souls usually styled "privileged,"
for I have never heard anybody deny the virtues of temperament. So, I