"I will tell you, my lord. Imagining that a man whose reputation for gallantry had always stood high in the world would, as he advanced in years, be more easily delighted than another by being flattered upon his personal advantages, and more credulously receive such compliments as served to recall those days most soothing to his vanity to remember, well, my lord, incredible as it may appear, this woman began to flatter my poor misguided father upon the graceful _tournure_ of his features and the inimitable elegance of his shape. And he in his sixtieth year! Strange as you may consider it, spite of the excellent sense with which my father was endowed, he fell blindly into the snare, coarse and vulgar as it was. Such was--such still is, I doubt not--the secret of the unbounded influence this woman obtained over him. And really, my lord, spite of my present disinclination for mirth, I can scarcely restrain a smile at the recollection of having frequently, before my marriage, heard Madame Roland assert and maintain that what she styled real maturity was the finest portion of a person's existence, and that this maturity never began until about the fifty-fifth or sixtieth year of one's age." "I suppose that happened to be your father's age?" "Precisely so, my lord! Then, and then only, according to Madame Roland, had the understanding, combined with experience, attained their full development; then only could a man, occupying a distinguished position in the world, enjoy the consideration to which he was entitled; at that period only were the _tout ensemble_ of his countenance, and the exquisite grace of his manners, in their highest perfection; the physiognomy offering at this delightful epoch of a man's life a heavenly mixture of winning serenity and gentle gravity. Then the slight tinge of melancholy, caused by the many recollections of the past deceit experience is fain to look back upon, completes the irresistible charm of real maturity; unappreciable (Madame Roland hastily added) except by women with head and heart sufficiently good to despise the youthful frivolity of a poor, inexperienced forty years, when the character and countenance can scarcely be called formed, and when good taste turns away from the boyish folly of such an immature season of life, and seeks the fine, majestic features impressed with the sublime and poetic expression resulting from a sixty years' study of the vast book of human existence." Rodolph could not restrain smiling at the powerful irony with which Madame d'Harville sketched the portrait of her mother-in-law. "There is one thing," said he to the marquise, "for which I cannot forgive ridiculous people." "What is that, my lord?" "The being also wicked; which prevents our being able to laugh at them as much as they deserve." "They probably calculate upon that available advantage," replied Clémence.