Page:In a winter city, by Ouida.djvu/201

 where it explodes—the wisest man stands helpless. He cannot reconcile the warring elements nor retain any personal peace himself. I am the slave of Madame Mila; I adore the dust of the exquisite shoes of Madame Nina; I am penetrated with the most absolute devotion to Madame Blanche;—when these heavenly graces are ready to rend each other's hair, what can I do? What can I be except the most unhappy person upon earth? To reconcile ladies who are infuriated is a hopeless dream; it were easier to make whole again a broken glass of Venice. It makes one almost wish," added the Duc with a second sigh, "almost wish that Molière had never been created, or, being created, had never written. But for Molière I doubt very much if the Drama, as an Art, would have lingered on to the present time."

"Console yourself, my dear Duc," said Lady Hilda, "console yourself with a line from Molière: 'Cinq ou six coups de bâton entre gens qui s'aiment ne font que ragaillardir l'amitié.' Mila, Nina, and Blanche will kiss each other to-morrow; they must, or what becomes of the