I was born in a family of clerks, but I know I was to be born in a higher rank. I am beautiful, charming, a woman of courteous manners, and even so I had no dowry, no expectations, no means of being known, understood, loved, nor wedded by any rich and distinguished man, instead I married an insignificant clerk of Public Instruction. I am as unhappy as if I had really fallen from my designated rank; I know I don't belong in the place in which I now stand. I want more, much more than just this impecunious dwelling, this repulsive look of the walls, the worn-out chairs, the unappealing look of the curtains, and just by looking at the Breton peasant it fills my heart with anger and sadness. I believe I deserve the silent antechamber hung with Asian tapestry, lit by a tall bronze candelabrum, and two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs. I enjoy dreaming of long salons fatted up with ancient silk, of the delicate furniture carrying priceless curiosities, and of the coquettish perfumed boudoirs made for talks at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire. During supper I ponder upon dainty dinners, shining silverware, of tapestry that fills the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest. I think of delicious dishes served on marvelous plates, the whispered gallantries which one listens to with a sphinxlike smile, while eating the pink flesh of a trout or the wings of a quail, but this is nothing more than a childish dream, I know I can never have everything I want.
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