HUSBAND A. (peeling a chestnut)—­Well, as for me, I admire literary people, but from a distance.  I find them intolerable; in conversation they are despotic; I do not know what displeases me more, their faults or their good qualities.  In short (he swallows his chestnut), people of genius are like tonics—­you like, but you must use them temperately.

WIFE B. (who has listened attentively)—­But, M. A., you are very exacting (with an arch smile); it seems to me that dull people have as many faults as people of talent, with this difference perhaps, that the former have nothing to atone for them!

HUSBAND A. (irritably)—­You will agree at least, madame, that they are not very amiable to you.

WIFE B. (with vivacity)—­Who told you so?

HUSBAND A. (smiling)—­Don’t they overwhelm you all the time with their superiority?  Vanity so dominates their souls that between you and them the effort is reciprocal—­

THE MISTRESS OF THE HOUSE. (aside to Wife A)—­You well deserved it, my dear. (Wife A shrugs her shoulders.)

HUSBAND A. (still continuing)—­Then the habit they have of combining ideas which reveal to them the mechanism of feeling!  For them love is purely physical and every one knows that they do not shine.

WIFE B. (biting her lips, interrupting him)—­It seems to me, sir, that we are the sole judges in this matter.  I can well understand why men of the world do not like men of letters!  But it is easier to criticise than to imitate them.

HUSBAND A. (disdainfully)—­Oh, madame, men of the world can assail the authors of the present time without being accused of envy.  There is many a gentleman of the drawing-room, who if he undertook to write—­

WIFE B. (with warmth)—­Unfortunately for you, sir, certain friends of yours in the Chamber have written romances; have you been able to read them?—­But really, in these days, in order to attain the least originality, you must undertake historic research, you must—­

HUSBAND B. (making no answer to the lady next him and speaking aside)
--Oh!  Oh!  Can it be that it is M. de L-----, author of the Dreams of
a Young Girl, whom my wife is in love with?—­That is singular; I
thought that it was Doctor M-----.  But stay! (Aloud.) Do you know, my
dear, that you are right in what you say? (All laugh.) Really, I
should prefer to have always artists and men of letters in my
drawing-room—­(aside) when we begin to receive!—­rather than to see
there other professional men.  In any case artists speak of things
about
which every one is enthusiastic, for who is there who does not believe
in good taste?  But judges, lawyers, and, above all, doctors—­Heavens! 
I confess that to hear them constantly speaking about lawsuits and
diseases, those two human ills—­

WIFE A. (sitting next to Husband B, speaking at the same time)—­What is that you are saying, my friend?  You are quite mistaken.  In these days nobody wishes to wear a professional manner; doctors, since you have mentioned doctors, try to avoid speaking of professional matters.  They talk politics, discuss the fashions and the theatres, they tell anecdotes, they write books better than professional authors do; there is a vast difference between the doctors of to-day and those of Moliere—­