To sacrifice oneself to one's passion, fair enough; but to passions one does not feel! O wretched nineteenth century! -- GIRODET

Having at first read Julien's long letters without any pleasure, Mme de Fervaques was beginning to be preoccupied by them, but one thing distressed her: "What a shame M. Sorel isn't a proper priest! One could admit him to some sort of intimacy; but with that cross, and the almost bourgeois suit he wears, one lays oneself open to cruel questions, and what is one to reply?" She did not finish her train of thought: "some malicious woman from my circle of friends may assume and even spread the rumour that he's a little cousin of subordinate rank, a relative of my father's, some merchant decorated by the National Guard."

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