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A "fop" speaks: (from "Madame Firmiani")

"Madame Firmiani?" cries another, twirling his cane. "I'll tell you
what I think of her; she is a woman between thirty and thirty-five;
faded complexion, handsome eyes, flat figure, contralto voice worn
out, much dressed, rather rouged, charming manners; in short, my dear
fellow, the remains of a pretty woman who is still worth the trouble
of a passion." This remark is from the species Fop, who has just
breakfasted, doesn't weigh his words, and is about to mount his horse.
At that particular moment Fops are pitiless.