"Only because they cost so much to rear in their fogs. If they were common as with us, they would throw them out of the window as we do."
"Nevertheless, send her three hundred pots more. Il faut commencer la cour, mon cher."
Della Rocca looked out into the rain.
"I have no inclination—I dislike a woman of the world."
The Duc chuckled a little.
"Ah, ah! since when, caro mio?"
"There is no simplicity—there is no innocence—there is no sincerity"———
'Bah!" said the Duc, with much disdain; "I do not know where you have got those new ideas, nor do I think they are your own at all. Have you fallen in love with a 'jeune Mees' with apple-red cheeks and sweatmeats in her pocket? Simplicity—innocence—sincerity. Very pretty. Our old friend of a million vaudevilles, L'Ingénue. We all know her. What is she in real truth?—A swaddled bundle of Ignorance. Cut the swaddling band—ugh! and Ignorance flies to Knowledge as Eve did, only Ignorance does not want to know good and evil: the evil contents her:
