M. de Voltaire; they rush into his arms, stammer and weep, their agitation resembling that of the most passionate love."[12] — When a society-author reads his work in a drawing-room, fashion requires that the company should utter exclamations and sob, and that some pretty fainting subject should be unlaced.  Mme. de Genlis, who laughs at these affectations, is no less affected than the rest.  Suddenly some one in the company is heard to say to the young orphan whom she is exhibiting:  “Pamela, show us Héloise,” whereupon Pamela, loosening her hair, falls on her knees and turns her eyes up to heaven with an air of inspiration, to the great applause of the assembly.[13] Sensibility becomes an institution.  The same Madame de Genlis founds an order of Perseverance which soon includes “as many as ninety chevaliers in the very best society.”  To become a member it is necessary to solve some riddle, to answer a moral question and pronounce a discourse on virtue.  Every lady or chevalier who discovers and publishes “three well-verified virtuous actions” obtains a gold medal.  Each chevalier has his “brother in arms,” each lady has her bosom friend and each member has a device, and each device, framed in a little picture, figures in the “Temple of Honor,” a sort of tent gallantly decorated, and which M. de Lauzun causes to be erected in the middle of a garden.[14] — The sentimental parade is complete, a drawing room masquerade being visible even in this revival of chivalry.

The froth of enthusiasm and of fine words nevertheless leaves in the heart a residuum of active benevolence, trustfulness, and even happiness, or, at least, expansiveness and freedom.  Wives, for the first time, are seen accompanying their husbands into garrison; mothers desire to nurse their infants, and fathers begin to interest themselves in the education of their children.  Simplicity again forms an element of manners.  Hair-powder is no longer put on little boys’ heads; many of the seigniors abandon laces, embroideries, red heels and the sword, except when in full dress.  People appear in the streets “dressed à la Franklin, in coarse cloth, with a knotty cane and thick shoes."[15] The taste no longer runs on cascades, statues and stiff and pompous decorations; the preference is for the English garden.  The queen arranges a village for herself at the Trianon, where, “dressed in a frock of white cambric muslin and a gauze neck-handkerchief, and with a straw hat,” she fishes in the lake and sees her cows milked.  Etiquette falls away like the paint scaling off from the skin, disclosing the bright hue of natural emotions.  Madame Adelaide takes up a violin and replaces an absent musician to let the peasant girls dance16 The Duchesse de Bourbon goes out early in the morning incognito to bestow alms, and “to see the poor in their garrets.”  The Dauphine jumps out of her carriage to assist a wounded post-boy, a peasant knocked down by a stag.  The king and the Comte d’Artois help a carter