_De Ryons_--No, no; I have no number, I! A well-brought-up woman never goes from one experience of the heart to another one, without a decent interval of time, more or less long. Two railroad accidents never come together on the same railway. During the _intervals_ a woman really needs a friend, a good confidant; and it is then that I turn up. I let her tell me all the melancholy affairs in question; I see the unhappy victim in tears after the traitor has called; I lament with her, I weep with her, I make her laugh with me: and little by little I replace the delinquent without her seeing that I am doing so. But then I know very well that I am without importance, that I am a mere politician of the moment, a cabinet minister without a portfolio, a sentimental distraction without any consequences; and some fine day, after having been the confidential friend as to past events, I become the confidential friend as to future ones,--for the lady falls in love for the second time with somebody who knows nothing of the first experience, who will never know anything about it, and who of course must be made to suppose he represents the first one. Then I go away for a little time and leave them to themselves, and then I come back like a new friend to the family. By-and-by, when the dear creature is reckoning up the balance-sheet of her past, when her conscience pours into her ear the names that she would rather not remember, and my name comes with the others, she reflects an instant,--and then she says resolutely and sincerely to herself, "Oh, _he_ does not count!" My friend, I am always the one that does not count, and I like it extremely. _Madame Leverdet_ [_indignantly_]--You are simply a monster! _De Ryons_--Oh no, oh no, oh no, I am not! _Madame Leverdet_--According to your own account, you have no faith in women.... Wretch! Ungrateful creature! And yet it is woman who inspires all the great things in this life. _De Ryons_--But somehow forbids us to accomplish them. _Madame Leverdet_--Go out from here, my dear De Ryons, and never let me see you again. _De Ryons_ [_rising promptly and making a mocking bow_]--My dear lady-- _Madame Leverdet_--No, I will _not_ shake hands with you. _De Ryons_--Then I shall die of chagrin--that's all about it. _Madame Leverdet_--Do you know how you will end, you incorrigible creature? When you are fifty years old you will have rheumatism. _De Ryons_--Yes, or sciatica. But I shall find some one who will embroider me warm slippers. _Madame Leverdet_--Indeed you will not! You will marry your cook. _De Ryons_--That depends on how well she cooks. Again farewell, dear madam. _Madame Leverdet_--No, stay one moment. _De Ryons_--It is you who are keeping me; so look out. _Madame Leverdet_--Let me have really your last word on the whole matter. _De Ryons_--It is very easily given. There are just two kinds of women: those who are good women, and those who are not. _Madame Leverdet_--Without fine distinctions?