ined by religion, which
orders us to make ourselves agreeable to our neighbor. This obligation
cost her so much that she consulted her director, the Abbe Couturier,
upon the subject of this honest but puerile civility. In spite of the
humble remark of his penitent, confessing the inward labor of her
mind in finding anything to say, the old priest, rigid on the point
of discipline, read her a passage from Saint-Francois de Sales on the
duties of women in society, which dwelt on the decent gayety of
pious Christian women, who were bound to reserve their sternness for
themselves, and to be amiable and pleasing in their homes, and see that
their neighbors enjoyed themselves. Thus, filled with a sense of duty,
and wishing, at all costs, to obey her director, who bade her converse
with amenity, the poor soul perspired in her corset when the talk around
her languished, so much did she suffer from the effort of emitting ideas
in order to revive it. Under such circumstances she would put forth
the silliest statements, such as: "No one can be in two places at
once--unless it is a little bird," by which she one day roused, and not
without success, a discussion on the ubiquity of the apostles, which
she was unable to comprehend. Such efforts at conversation won her the
appellation of "that good Mademoiselle Cormon," which, from the lips of
the beaux esprits of society, means that she was as ignorant as a carp,
and rather a poor fool; but many persons of her own calibre took the
remark in its literal sense, and answered:--

"Yes; oh yes! Mademoiselle Cormon is an excellent woman."

Sometimes she would put such absurd questions (always for the purpose
of fulfilling her duties to society, and making herself agreeable to her
guests) that everybody burst out laughing. She asked, for instance, what
the government did with the taxes they were always receiving; and why
the Bible had not been printed in the days of Jesus Christ, inasmuch
as it was written by Moses. Her mental powers were those of the English
"country gentleman" who, hearing constant mention of "posterity" in
the House of Commons, rose to make the speech that has since become
celebrated: "Gentlemen," he said, "I hear much talk in this place about
Posterity. I should be glad to know what that power has ever done for
England."

Under these circumstances the heroic Chevalier de Valois would bring
to the succor of the old maid all the powers of his clever diplomacy,
whenever