Every house has its particular reception-night.

And a pure and simple reception indeed it is, without play, without music, without conversation; a mere interchange of bows and curtsies, and cold commonplaces.

At rare intervals a ball breaks the ice, and shakes off the _ennui_ generated by this system.

Poor women! In an existence at once so busy and so void, there is not even room for friendship.
Two who may have been friends from childhood, brought up in the same convent, married into the same world, may meet one another daily and at all hours, and yet may not be able to enjoy ten minutes of intimate conversation in the whole year.

The brightest, the best, is known but by her name, her title, and her fortune.