"She could not forgive society[38] for the inferior position she had so long occupied in it."[39] Thanks to Rousseau， vanity， so natural to man， and especially sensitive with a Frenchman， becomes still more sensitive. The slightest discrimination， a tone of the voice， seems a mark of disdain. "One day，[40] on alluding， before the minister of war， to a general officer who had obtained his rank through his merit， he exclaimed， 'Oh， yes， an officer of luck.' This expression， being repeated and commented on， does much mischief." In vain do the grandees show their condescending spirit， "welcoming with equal kindness and gentleness all who are presented to them." In the mansion of the Due de Penthièvre the nobles eat at the table of the master of the house， the commoners dine with his first gentleman and only enter the drawing room when coffee is served. There they find "in full force and with a superior tone" the others who had the honor of dining with His Highness， and "who do not fail to salute the new arrivals with an obliging civility indicating patronage."[41] No more is required； in vain does the Duke "carry his attentions to an extreme，"Beugnot， so pliable， has no desire to return. They bear them ill-will， not only on account of their slight bows but again on account of their over-politeness. Champfort acrimoniously relates that d'Alembert， at the height of his reputation， being in Madame du Deffant's drawing room with President Hénault and M. de Pont-de-Veyle， a physician enters named Fournier， and he， addressing Madame du Deffant， says， "Madame， I have the honor of presenting you with my very humble respects；'' turning to President Hénault， "I have the honor to be your obedient servant，" and then to M. de Pont-de-Veyle， "Sir， your most obedient，" and to d'Alembert， "Good day， sir."[42] To a rebellious heart everything is an object of resentment. The Third-Estate， following Rousseau's example， cherishes ill-feeling against the nobles for what they do， and yet again， for what they are， for their luxury， their elegance， their insincerity， their refined and brilliant behavior. Champfort is embittered against them on account of the polite attentions with which they overwhelm him. Sieyès bears them a grudge on account of a promised abbey which he did not obtain.
Each individual， besides the general grievances， has his personal grievance. Their coolness， like their familiarity， attentions and inattentions， is an offense， and， under these millions of needle-thrusts， real or imaginary， the mind gets to be full of gall. In 1789， it is full to overflowing.
"The most honorable title of the French nobility，" writes Champfort， "is a direct descent from some 30，000 armed， helmeted， armletted and armored men who， on heavy horses sheathed in armor， trod under foot 8 or 10 millions of naked men， the ancestors of the actual nation. Behold these well-established claims to the respect and affection of their descendants！ And， to complete the respectability of this nobility， it is recruited and regenerated by the adoption of those who have acquired fortune by plundering the cabins of the poor who are unable to pay its impositions."[43] --"Why should not the Third-Estate send back，" says Sieyès， "into the forests of Franconia every family that maintains its absurd pretension of having sprung from the loins of a race of conquerors， and of having succeeded to the rights of conquest？ [44] I can well imagine， were there no police， every Cartouche[45] firmly establishing himself on the high-road -- would that give him a right to levy toll？ Suppose him to sell a monopoly of this kind， once common enough， to an honest successor， would the right become any more respectable in the hands of the purchaser？ . . . Every privilege， in its nature， is unjust， odious， and against the social compact. The blood boils at the thought of its ever having been possible to legally consecrate down to the eighteenth century the abominable fruits of an abominable feudal system. . . . The caste of nobles is really a population apart， a fraudulent population， however， which， for lack of serviceable faculties， and unable to exist alone， fastens itself upon a living nation， like the vegetable tumors that support themselves on the sap of the plants to which they are a burden， and which wither beneath the load." -- They suck all， everything being for them.
"Every branch of the executive power has fallen into the hands of this caste， which staffed (already) the church， the robe and the sword. Asort of confraternity or joint paternity leads the nobles each to prefer the other and all to the rest of the nation. . . . The Court reigns， and not the monarch. The Court creates and distributes offices. And what is the Court but the head of this vast aristocracy that covers all parts of France， and which， through its members， attains to and exercises everywhere whatever is requisite in all branches of the public administration？" -- Let us put an end to "this social crime， this long parricide which one class does itself the honor to commit daily against the others. . . . Ask no longer what place the privileged shall occupy in the social order； it is simply asking what place in a sick man's body must be assigned to a malignant ulcer that is undermining and tormenting it . . . to the loathsome disease that is consuming the living flesh." -- The solution is self-evident： let us eradicate the ulcer， or at least sweep away the vermin. The Third-Estate， in itself and by itself， is "a complete nation，" requiring no organ， needing no aid to subsist or to govern itself， and which will recover its health on ridding itself of the parasites infesting its skin.