family, in a social position equal or
superior to his own; provided that a similar
concordance exist between their fortunes, and
finally, if possible, that the person herself be
not altogether repulsive, he will require nothing
more. Be she tall or short, fat or lean, fair or
dark, well-educated or ignorant, gentle or
cross-grained, healthy or sickly, it is all one to him.
Equality of fortune and position are the two
grand items; all the rest are accessories.

The friends, then, are on the look-out; they
soon discover a score of marriageable girls. The
postulant has no other difficulty than that of
making his selection. A fête, a ball, a call, a
dinner, a simple meeting brought about by a
third party, bring the two enemies face to face.
The word "enemies" is not employed by chance.

When two armies, or two diplomatists, have
met, what is their first, their only care? Of
course, to obtain the best possible conditions at
the expense of the adverse party. And what
means do they employ to accomplish that end?
They conceal their forces and their lowest terms,
which they only allow to appear when all is over.
In all the matrimonial negotiations whence
marriages of reason result, matters are conducted
exactly as they are by diplomatists. Both of
them, suitor and maid, paint—not, perhaps, their
faces, although the least said about that the
better; but their looks, their words, their
attitude, endeavouring to adorn themselves with
moral and physical advantages, of which closer
intimacy will show that they are utterly devoid.

What does it signify? A good opportunity
offers itself; no time is to be lost in striking
the bargain. Nobody can live on love and
spring water. Money in the funds, farms in
Normandy, vineyards in the Côte d'Or, a notary's
office with plenty of clients, are precious things
of the very first importance. If, by-the-by, the
house becomes unbearable, the fortune with its
little additions can be divided into two equal
shares, and all will go on smoothly again.

The young couple, then, are brought together;
the combat is about to begin; for an hour or
two, the suitor, without coming forward or
compromising himself, is able to scrutinise with his
eyes the person proposed to him as his wife. If
the eyes are satisfied—and little caution is to
be expected in an eye ready to be pleased—it
is possible, amidst the confusion of a crowd, by
means of a polka, to obtain the favour of a few
minutes' tête-à-tête.

All goes well. The young man, enamoured
with his partner's charms, returns to the common
friend, and says, "I have no objection to
conclude the match. But I must have two
hundred thousand francs; you know that sum
is indispensable."

"Yes, my dear fellow; but no one is
compelled to perform impossibilities. We can give
only a hundred and fifty thousand."

"Show me, then, another pearl out of your
stock of jewellery."

"Easy enough. Did you remark, sitting by
the side of your rejected fair one, a very
dark-complexioned girl?'"

"Yes; and the least in the world awry."

"She has two hundred and fifty thousand
francs!"

"If she will accept me, the business is settled."

Fresh presentation, fresh dissimulation. During
a month, three times a week, for two hours
at a sitting, the lover pays his respects to his
affianced bride. On the day when, hand in
hand, they swear before God and man to take
each other for husband and wife, they have been
twenty-four hours in each other's company, and
that in the presence of witnesses.

Unhappy creatures! They have not had the
time even to think of what they are doing. For
a month their thoughts have been occupied with
everything excepting marriage. The young
man has been meditating solely how he will
employ the dowry; the young lady has been
considering the items of her "corbeille" or
wedding presents.  But if a dowry and a
corbeille are things not to be despised, it is
difficult to believe that they alone constitute the
whole of marriage. And yet, that is what is
called a marriage of reason!

"All the proprieties have been observed,"
stupidly say their worldly acquaintances. "They
are perfectly assorted!  Ah! they will make a
happy couple!"

Wait a bit, good people. When the funds
have dropped, and the corbeille is worn out, you
will see if the proprieties, all the proprieties,
have been observed—if the couple be so
admirably matched.

Fatigued with the constraint which they had
imposed on themselves at the outset (a constraint
observed by all polite strangers who happen to be
thrown together by chance), they feel that they
can no longer support the dissimulation of their
real characters; and having no further
appearances to keep up—the one for the sake of
the dowry, the other for the corbeille—they
reveal their true selves with an energy
proportionate to the difficulty they had in maintaining
the compression. Then, surely, is the time,
if ever, to invoke the reason which was so
loudly talked of as presiding at the marriage.
Then is the time to compliment them on their
prudence, and their respect for propriety. What
a delightful household, what an admirably-assorted
couple, have sprung up out of this
marriage of reason!

Monsieur, who was a little saint, a docile
slave, while fingering the cash, suddenly feels
his despotic instincts struggling in his bosom
stronger than ever. He assumes the tone of a
master towards the person one look from whom,
so lately, either overclouded or irradiated his
forehead, and the tyrant bickers at the slightest
outlay made by the woman for whose corbeille
nothing was fine enough, nothing dear enough.

And the young wife? Do you, by chance,
imagine that she does not perform her part in
this new modulation of the conjugal duet?
She, so white, so gentle, so angelical, so smiling
beneath her wreath of orange-flowers, has
become yellow, dry, waspish, angular. Mounted
on her pedestal of two hundred and fifty thousand