“C’est à la corbeille--Tenez!” cried she, holding it by a slender handle of orange-peel; “Tenez! c’est à la corbeille!” Mrs. Somers, with a forced smile admired the orange-basket; but said, that, for her part, her hands were not sufficiently dexterous to imitate this fashion: “I,” said she, “can only do like the king of Prussia and _other people_--squeeze the orange, and throw the peel away. By-the-bye, how absurd it was of Voltaire to be angry with the king of Prussia for that witty and just apologue!” “_Just!_” repeated Emilie. “Just!” reiterated Mrs. Somers, in a harsh voice: “surely you think it so. For my part, I like the king the better for avowing his principles--all the world act as he did, though few avow it.” “What!” said Emilie, in a low voice, “do not you believe in the reality of gratitude?” “Apparently,” cried Mad. de Coulanges, who was still busy with her orange, “apparently, madame is a disciple of our Rochefoucault, and allows of no principle but self-love. In that case, I shall have as bitter quarrels with her as I have with you, mon cher abbé;--for Rochefoucault is a man I detest, or rather, I detest his maxims--the duke himself, they say, was the most amiable man of his day. Only conceive, that such a man should ascribe all our virtues to self-love and vanity!” “And, perhaps,” said the abbé, “it was merely vanity that made him say so--he wished to write a witty satirical book; but I will lay a wager he did not think as ill of human nature as he speaks of it.” “He could hardly speak or think too ill of it,” said Mrs. Somers, “if he judged of human nature by such speeches as that of the king of Prussia about his friend and the orange.” “But,” said Emilie, in a timid voice, “would it not be doing poor human nature injustice to judge of it by such words as those? I am convinced, with M. l’abbé, that some men, for the sake of appearing witty, speak more malevolently than they feel; and, perhaps, this was the case with the king of Prussia.” “And Mlle. de Coulanges thinks, then,” said Mrs. Somers, “that it is quite allowable, for the sake of appearing witty, to speak malevolently?” “Dear madam! dear Mrs. Somers!--no!” cried Emilie; “you quite misunderstood me.” “Pardon me, I thought you were justifying the king of Prussia,” continued Mrs. Somers; “and I do not well see how that can be done without allowing--what many people do in practice, though not in theory--that it is right, and becoming, and prudent, to sacrifice a friend for a bon-mot.”