In the case of a widower, or an unmarried uncle, marriage is the terror; in the case of the wealthy woman I suspect the last will and testament arouses the scare. Anyway, whatever the unexpressed sentiment may be, the French family of all classes joins in this unreasonable hatred, suspicion, and jealousy of the outsider. I remember when I first came to Paris many years ago, having a letter of introduction to Madame Blaze de Bury, a very singular and clever old lady, who said to me: "You will find the French as hard as a granite wall when you come to knock against them. To the superficial glance they are so easy, so accessible, so pleasant. Well, I have lived long enough among them to discover that they are just like the Chinese. They hate foreigners, even when they are delightful to them. And this hatred of the foreigner is shown in family life, where the foreigner is everyone who is not a direct relation." Subsequent experience did not prove Madame Blaze de Bury altogether right as regards the foreigner, for I, a foreigner, have found in France kindness, sympathy, generosity, and affection, and all from the French of the very French. In criticising Frenchwomen, I am criticising the part of humanity I like best, appreciate and admire most on earth. Give Frenchwomen the freedom, the liberal education of England, a dash of Protestantism—that is, mental and moral
