intended to convey?" he asked
the lady.

The lady, with a nod of her head, expressed her approval of this
translation of her thoughts.

"Then," resumed the lawyer, continuing his remarks.

But the nervous gentleman, evidently scarcely able to contain himself,
without allowing the lawyer to finish, asked:

"Yes, sir. But what are we to understand by this love that alone
consecrates marriage?"

"Everybody knows what love is," said the lady.

"But I don't know, and I should like to know how you define it."

"How? It is very simple," said the lady.

And she seemed thoughtful, and then said:

"Love . . . love . . . is a preference for one man or one woman to the
exclusion of all others. . . ."

"A preference for how long? . . . For a month, two days, or half an
hour?" said the nervous gentleman, with special irritation.

"No, permit me, you evidently are not talking of the same thing."

"Yes, I am talking absolutely of the same thing. Of the preference
for one man or one woman to the exclusion of all others. But I ask: a
preference for how long?"

"For how long? For a long time, for a life-time sometimes."

"But that happens only in novels. In life, never. In life this
preference for one to the exclusion of all others lasts in rare cases
several years, oftener several months, or even weeks, days,
hours. . . ."

"Oh, sir. Oh, no, no, permit me," said all three of us at the same time.

The clerk himself uttered a monosyllable of disapproval.

"Yes, I know," he said, shouting louder than all of us; "you are talking
of what is believed to exist, and I am talking of what is. Every man
feels what you call love toward each pretty woman he sees, and very
little toward his wife. That is the origin of the proverb,--and it is
a true one,--'Another's wife is a white swan, and ours is bitter
wormwood."'

"Ah, but what you say is terrible! There certainly exists among human
beings this feeling which is called love, and which lasts, not for
months and years, but for life."

"No, that does not exist. Even if it should be admitted that Menelaus
had preferred Helen all his life, Helen would have preferred Paris; and
so it has been, is, and will be eternally. And it cannot be otherwise,
just as it cannot happen that, in a load of chick-peas, two peas marked
with a special sign should fall side by side. Further, this is not only
an improbability, but it is certain that a feeling of satiety will come
to Helen or to Mene