I
decided in the negative, which did not, however, prevent Delphine from
fulfilling her destiny, since there were others. She was, after all,
like a draught of rich old wine, all fire and sweetness. These things
were not generally seen in her; I was more favored than many; and I
looked at her with pitiless perspicacious eyes. Nevertheless, I had not
the least advantage; it was, in fact, between us, diamond cut diamond,
--which, oddly enough, brings me back to my story.

Some years previously, I had been sent on a special mission to the
government at Paris, and having finally executed it, I resigned the
post, and resolved to make my residence there, since it is the only
place on earth where one can live. Every morning I half expect to see
the country, beyond the city, white with an encampment of the nations,
who, having peacefully flocked there over night, wait till the Rue St.
Honore shall run out and greet them. It surprises me, sometimes, that
those pretending to civilization are content to remain at a distance.
What experience have they of life,--not to mention gayety and pleasure,
but of the great purpose of life,--society? Man evidently is gregarious;
Fourier's fables are founded on fact; we are nothing without our
opposites, our fellows, our lights and shadows, colors, relations,
combinations, our _point d'appui_, and our angle of sight. An isolated
man is immensurable; he is also unpicturesque, unnatural, untrue. He is
no longer the lord of Nature, animal and vegetable,--but Nature is the
lord of him; the trees, skies, flowers, predominate, and he is in as bad
taste as green and blue, or as an oyster in a vase of roses. The race
swings naturally to clusters. It being admitted, then, that society is
our normal state, where is it to be obtained in such perfection as at
Paris? Show me the urbanity, the generosity in trifles, better than
sacrifice, the incuriousness and freedom, the grace, and wit, and honor,
that will equal such as I find here. Morality,--we were not speaking
of it,--the intrusion is unnecessary; must that word with Anglo-Saxon
pertinacity dog us round the world? A hollow mask, which Vice now and
then lifts for a breath of air, I grant you this state may be called;
but since I find the vice elsewhere, countenance my preference for the
accompanying mask. But even this is vanishing; such drawing-rooms as
Mme. de St. Cyr's are less and less frequent. Yet, though the delightful
spell of the last century