“‘Heavens! I do it to be agreeable to you. Is not Madame de Campvallon a good associate?’
“‘Excellent; only in general I do not admire female friendships. But I did wrong to speak to you on this subject. You have wit and discretion enough to preserve the proper limits.’
“This, my mother, was what he said to me. I embrace you.
“I hope, my own mother, not to bore you this year with a catalogue of fetes and festivals, lamps and girandoles; for Lent is coming. To-day is Ash-Wednesday. Well, we dance to-morrow evening at Madame d’Oilly’s. I had hoped not to go, but I saw Louis was disappointed, and I feared to offend Madame d’Oilly, who has acted a mother’s part to my husband. Lent here is only an empty name. I sigh to myself: ‘Will they never stop! Great heavens! will they never cease amusing themselves?’
“I must confess to you, my darling mother, I amuse myself too much to be happy. I depended on Lent for some time to myself, and see how they efface the calendar!
“This dear Lent! What a sweet, honest, pious invention it is, notwithstanding. How sensible is our religion! How well it understands human weakness and folly! How far-seeing in its regulations! How indulgent also! for to limit pleasure is to pardon it.
“I also love pleasure--the beautiful toilets that make us resemble flowers, the lighted salons, the music, the gay voices and the dance. Yes, I love all these things; I experience their charming confusion; I palpitate, I inhale their intoxication. But always-- always! at Paris in the winter--at the springs in summer--ever this crowd, ever this whirl, this intoxication of pleasure! All become like savages, like negroes, and--dare I say so?--bestial! Alas for Lent!
“HE foresaw it. HE told us, as the priest told me this morning: ‘Remember you have a soul: Remember you have duties!--a husband --a child--a mother--a God!’
“Then, my mother, we should retire within ourselves; should pass the time in grave thought between the church and our homes; should converse on solemn and serious subjects; and should dwell in the moral world to gain a foothold in heaven! This season is intended as a wholesome interval to prevent our running frivolity into dissipation, and pleasure into convulsion; to prevent our winter’s mask from becoming our permanent visage. This is entirely the opinion of Madame Jaubert.