All those simple ways of middle-class life, the familiar form of address, the endearing epithets, vulgar if you please, but sacred, aroused in Julie sometimes an inclination to laugh, sometimes a wave of emotion which brought tears to her eyes. Of course it would all be considered execrable form in her circle; it was the way that inferior people talked and acted. Marcel, when in Madame Estrelle's salon, readily adopted the manners and language of a man who is able to conform to what is considered proper in all ranks of society. In his own family he laid aside that conventional manner, and, without ever being vulgar, he resumed the familiar tone of happy domesticity. Thus Julie surprised him oblivious of his ceremonious manner and living for his own enjoyment a sweet, trustful, unconstrained life. She was distressed and delighted at the same time, and little by little she reached the point where she said to herself that those people were in the right, and that all husbands and wives ought to call each other _thou_, all children to throw their arms about their mothers' necks, and all spectators to be interested in the performance. In the circle in which she lived people always addressed one another as you, they had no simple phrases that came from the heart, they emasculated every noble sentiment. Refinement was the most essential point in speech, and dignity in endearments. The heart entered into them only in a subordinate capacity, and its effusions must be concealed beneath a certain frigid or absurdly symbolical gloss. Admiration for genius must never become enthusiasm. They enjoyed, or appreciated, their words were carefully confined within certain bounds. In short they made it a point not to display emotion on any subject, and with the perpetual little smile of the grace that accompanies noble birth, they became so charming that they ceased to be human.