The "lion" is generally a fine fellow who has passed from the state of child to that of man, the claim to be a "young man" having been ceded long since to men of forty or fifty; for nowadays the condition of youth is almost as much scorned as that of age. 

Never having been a young man, the lion has almost never committed any of those youthful follies that arise from the heart, even though he loves gaming, women and wine, as they say in the old songs from the time of the Empire, one of the things that the lion detests above all. But this is no true love, because it is not for themselves that these gentlemen indulge these three passions, to which they add, if they can afford it, that of horses.

True passion, by its nature, is personal, concealed, discreet; theirs, on the contrary, is all show and luxury. They possess a mistress as they would a carriage, to dazzle the passer-by, they dine at the windows of the cafe de Paris because it is the most visible place in the capital. They have, in effect, no claim to be drinkers, but only to empty a large number of bottles, which is quite different.

Thus lions are in general quite ignorant of love, its passionate follies, its delicate happiness, its senseless hopes, its imaginary fears, and above all, its charming silliness. On the other hand they have acquired (I should say purchased) the right to be on the most intimate terms with most of the dancers or chorus girls of the Opera.