He lived from the outside." Garain, who did not like Paul Vence's ingenious turn of wit and language, tried to hasten the conclusion: "In a word," he said, "there was something of the monster in the man." "There are no monsters," replied Paul Vence; "and men who pass for monsters inspire horror. Napoleon was loved by an entire people. He had the power to win the love of men. The joy of his soldiers was to die for him." Countess Martin would have wished Dechartre to give his opinion. But he excused himself with a sort of fright. "Do you know," said Schmoll again, "the parable of the three rings, sublime inspiration of a Portuguese Jew." Garain, while complimenting Paul Vence on his brilliant paradox, regretted that wit should be exercised at the expense of morality and justice. "One great principle," he said, "is that men should be judged by their acts." "And women?" asked Princess Seniavine, brusquely; "do you judge them by their acts? And how do you know what they do?" The sound of voices was mingled with the clear tintinabulation of silverware. A warm air bathed the room. The roses shed their leaves on the cloth. More ardent thoughts mounted to the brain. General Lariviere fell into dreams. "When public clamor has split my ears," he said to his neighbor, "I shall go to live at Tours. I shall cultivate flowers." He flattered himself on being a good gardener; his name had been given to a rose. This pleased him highly. Schmoll asked again if they knew the parable of the three rings. The Princess rallied the Deputy. "Then you do not know, Monsieur Garain, that one does the same things for very different reasons?" Montessuy said she was right. "It is very true, as you say, Madame, that actions prove nothing. This thought is striking in an episode in the life of Don Juan, which was known neither to Moliere nor to Mozart, but which is revealed in an English legend, a knowledge of which I owe to my friend James Russell Lowell of London. One learns from it that the great seducer lost his time with three women. One was a bourgeoise: she was in love with her husband; the other was a nun: she would not consent to violate her vows; the third, who had for a long time led a life of debauchery, had become ugly, and was a servant in a den. After what she had done, after what she had seen, love signified nothing to her. These three women behaved alike for very different reasons. An action proves nothing. It is the mass of actions, their weight, their sum total, which makes the value of the human being." "Some of our actions," said Madame Martin, "have our look, our face: they are our daughters. Others do not resemble us at all." She rose and took the General's arm. On the way to the drawing-room the Princess said: "Therese is right. Some actions do not express our real selves at all. They are like the things we do in nightmares."