You ask me for the list of your sins, my dear papa; it would be so long that I dare not undertake such a great work. And yet, you commit only one, but it has so many branches, it is repeated so often that it would take infinite calculations to assess its magnitude. And after all that, you would like me to forgive you—me, the director of your soul! If I were a man, that is the only thing I could do; but given that I heed my conscience, and my own interest in particular, I cannot in truth tolerate the dangerous system which contends that the friendship a man has for women can be divided ad infinitum. This is something you are forever trying to demonstrate, my dear papa, and something I shall never put up with. My heart, while capable of great love, has chosen few objects on which to bestow it; it has chosen them well, you are at the head of the list. When you scatter your friendship, as you have done, my friendship does not diminish, but from now on I shall try to be somewhat sterner toward your faults than I have been in the past, in order to see if I can regain by this means part of what I believe should be rightfully mine, as recompense for the affection I bear you. Here you have my system; war is declared between our two systems; I will no longer overlook anything you may do. I have made up my mind about it; yes, as decidedly as I made up my mind to love you forever. I have the honor to be, my dear papa, your very humble and very obedient servant