nded, and I thank
you."[2303] So many graces end in becoming tiresome; after having eaten
rich food for years, a little milk and dry bread becomes welcome.

Among all these social flavorings one is especially abused; one which,
unremittingly employed, communicates to all dishes its frigid and
piquant relish, I mean insincerity (badinage). Society does not tolerate
passion, and in this it exercises its right. One does not enter company
to be either vehement or somber; a strained air or one of concentration
would appear inconsistent. The mistress of a house is always right
in reminding a man that his emotional constraint brings on silence.
"Monsieur Such-a-one, you are not amiable to day." To be always
amiable is, accordingly, an obligation, and, through this training, a
sensibility that is diffused through innumerable little channels never
produces a broad current. "One has a hundred friends, and out of these
hundred friends two or three may have some chagrin every day; but one
could not award them sympathy for any length of time as, in that
event, one would be wanting in consideration for the remaining
ninety-seven;"[2304] one might sigh for an instant with some one of the
ninety-seven, and that would be all. Madame du Deffant, having lost her
oldest friend, the President Henault, that very day goes to sup in a
large assemblage: "Alas," she exclaimed, "he died at six o'clock this
evening; otherwise you would not see me here." Under this constant
regime of distractions and diversions there are no longer any profound
sentiments; we have nothing but an epidermic exterior; love itself is
reduced to "the exchange of two fantasies."--And, as one always falls on
the side to which one inclines, levity becomes deliberate and a matter
of elegance.[2305] Indifference of the heart is in fashion; one would
be ashamed to show any genuine emotion. One takes pride in playing with
love, in treating woman as a mechanical puppet, in touching one inward
spring, and then another, to force out, at will, her anger or her pity.
Whatever she may do, there is no deviation from the most insulting
politeness; the very exaggeration of false respect which is lavished on
her is a mockery by which indifference for her is fully manifested.--But
they go still further, and in souls naturally unfeeling, gallantry turns
into wickedness. Through ennui and the demand for excitement, through
vanity, and as a proof of dexterity, delight is found in tormenting,