Young girls who at a ball had made themselves specially agreeable to certain of their partners, and succeeded in drawing a few compliments from them, might say, "We had such flirtation." _To flirt_, then, is to make a young fellow believe that "_on l'a remarqué, distingué_," as the Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein says; it is to encourage him by sweet smiles and tender wiles, to quit his reserve and carry his gallantry almost so far as to declare himself. This kind of thing would be very dangerous with a young Frenchman; it leads to no bad consequences with the young Englishman, for flirtation is "attention without intention," as some one--I forget whom--has very aptly put it; and an Englishman is able to pay a lady attentions without harbouring any intentions. I compliment him upon it. A woman who flirted would pass in France for giddy, even fast: she knows her countrymen well, and is aware, when she coquettes with them, what she is exposing herself to. A young girl would never even think of it. But, in England, men are not so inflammable, and in flirting, a woman does not play with fire. Witness the following little scene, which gave me a quarter of an hour's diversion, at a conversazione given by one of the great learned societies of London. A young girl, lovely as an Englishwoman knows how to be lovely, when she sets about it, stood in the corner of one of the rooms talking with a young fellow of eighteen or twenty. You should have seen with what a mischievous delight this little angel, or rather this little demon, tortured the young booby, who appeared to me not to know what to do with himself, or which way to look, to escape the sight of a lovely and freely displayed _corsage_, that rose and fell, a few inches from his nose. "Poor dear child!" I thought to myself, "how oppressed you appear to be!" She seemed to be doing her utmost to sigh her life away; and what amused me most, was that, when the poor fellow appeared to have taken the firm resolution not to be tempted, his pretty torturer stopped her chatter, and set to work to fasten, with many careful and delicate touches, a rose that threatened, at one moment to escape, at the next to be swallowed in the heavy sea. This little performance certainly lasted a quarter of an hour, and really I pitied from the bottom of my heart this poor Tantalus--if one may call Tantalus a young innocent who did not attempt to get nearer--when, to my great satisfaction, I saw him beat a retreat. I felt relieved. So did the poor fellow, I am sure. A young Frenchman would soon have put an end to such a game by taking some liberty that the young girl, after all, would have only too richly deserved.