BELLAC. I shall speak, then with a threefold purpose:—first, to fulfill your request, ladies; (_Looking at_ MME DE LOUDAN) to bring back a friend who has been led away.—— BARONESS. (_Aside to_ MME. DE LOUDAN, _who modestly drops her eyes_) That is you, my dear! BELLAC. (_Looking at_ LUCY) And to combat an adversary who has proved exceedingly dangerous—in more ways than one. LADIES. That means Lucy!—It is Lucy!—Lucy! BELLAC. My subject is—Love! LADIES. (_Approving_) Ahh!—Ahh! DUCHESS. For a change! SUZANNE. Bravo! (_Low murmurs._) JEANNE. (_To_ PAUL) That young lady is feeling very fit, it seems! BELLAC. Concerning love!—The weakness which is a strength!—The sentiment which is a faith! The only religion, perhaps, which knows no scoffers! LADIES. Ah!—Charming!—Charming! MME. DE LOUDAN. (_To the_ BARONESS) Ah, the wings, my dear—the wings! BELLAC. I spoke this morning—in the course of my lecture on German Literature at the Princess’s—of a certain philosopher who made instinct the basis and the rule of all our actions and all our thoughts. LADIES. (_Protesting_) Oh!—Oh!—Oh! BELLAC. And now, ladies, I take occasion emphatically to declare that that opinion is not my opinion, and that I deny the theory with every fiber of my soul and being! LADIES. Good! Excellent! BARONESS. (_Aside to_ MME. DE LOUDAN) What pretty hands! BELLAC. No, ladies, no! Love is not, as the German philosopher has it, a purely specific passion; a deceitful illusion shackling mankind in order to work its own ends! No, a hundred times no! if we have souls! LADIES. Yes!—Yes— SUZANNE. Bravo! DUCHESS. (_Aside to_ ROGER) She is certainly doing that on purpose! BELLAC. Leave to the Sophists and to vulgar natures such soul-stunting theories; do not even consider them; answer them with silence, the language of the outcast! LADIES. Charming!—Charming!—— BELLAC. God forbid I should go so far as to deny the sovereign influence of beauty over the uncertain wills of men! (_Looking about him_) I see too much about me by way of refutation to that argument! LADIES. Ah!—Ah! ROGER. (_To the_ DUCHESS) He looked at _her_! DUCHESS. Yes. BELLAC. But above this material and mortal beauty, there is another, time-defying, invisible to the naked eye, which the soul of purity serenely contemplates and cherishes with an unearthly love. That love, ladies, is the true Love, the mingling of two spirits, their flight far from the terrestrial mire—into the infinite blue of the ideal! LADIES. Bravo! DUCHESS. (_To herself, rather loudly_) Nonsense! BELLAC. (_Looking at her_) That love, mocked at by some, unknown to most,—I declare, my hand on my heart, that it does exist! In the souls of the elect, as Proudhon says—— VOICES. (_Protesting_) Oh, Proudhon——! MME. DE LOUDAN. Oh, Bellac! BELLAC. A writer whom I am astonished to find myself quoting—I beg your pardons! In the souls of the elect, there is nothing of earth. LADIES. How delicate! Charming!