We have women who call themselves our friends, but they are friends like Prudence, women who were once kept and who have still the costly tastes that their age does not allow them to gratify.

Then they become our friends, or rather our guests at table.

Their friendship is carried to the point of servility, never to that of disinterestedness.

Never do they give you advice which is not lucrative.

It means little enough to them that we should have ten lovers extra, as long as they get dresses or a bracelet out of them, and that they can drive in our carriage from time to time or come to our box at the theatre.