I offered this love, filial and respectful, to Monsieur le Marquis.

Madame, the bottle was more responsive to this outburst of generous youth than Monsieur le Marquis, to whom I was a living plaything, a clay which he molded as a pastime--too readily, alas! And now, behold! he speaks of respect.

It would be droll if it were not sad.

True, he gave me gold; but he also taught me how to use this devil-key which unlocks the pathways of the world, wine-cellars and women's hearts.

Respect?
Has he ever taken me by the hand as natural fathers take their sons, and asked me to be his comrade?
Has he ever taught me to rise to heights, to scorn the petty forms and molds of life?
Have I not been as the captive eagle, drawn down at every flight?
And for this.