THE French might be a nation of lovers, but Toulon and Clermont Auvergne had clearly decided there was no need for any foreplay when they met on Saturday evening.

Their European Champions Cup final clash at Twickenham was a steamy and passionate liaison right from the start. Wham bam merci madame, you could say.

In which light, and mindful that this metaphor should not be stretched too far, Edinburgh had been groping in the dark the previous evening when they took on Gloucester in the Challenge Cup final, the European weekend's undercard attraction. The game was more than half-an-hour old before Edinburgh showed any sign of interest, having perched nervously at one end of the sofa up to that point.

It was a hugely disappointing outcome for those optimistic Edinburgh fans who had travelled to the Stoop hopeful of watching their side become the first Scottish ever team to collect a lump of European silverware. Having, er, roused themselves into action, Edinburgh did show a little more fight in the late stages than they had at the start, but it said everything about their overall performance that they were flattered by the six-point margin of their 13-19 defeat.

Edinburgh had enjoyed a huge break when Gloucester centre Billy Meakes was red carded - a little harshly in the eyes of most observers - with just over 15 minutes left to play. With another Gloucester player already in the sin bin, Ross Ford took advantage soon afterwards when he collected Edinburgh's only try, but the Scots could not add to their tally before the end.

That failure, as much as their rabbit-in-the-headlights first 30 minutes, revealed Edinburgh's naivety and inexperience at this level of the game. Gloucester are not exactly serial finalists either, but they looked far more at home in the environment than the Scottish side ever did.

As Tim Visser hinted afterwards, a number of Edinburgh players had never before played in a game of such magnitude. To rub salt in their wounds, the man whose craft did most to help short-handed Gloucester close out for their win was Greig Laidlaw, Edinburgh's former leader.

Will Edinburgh ever get there? Coach Alan Solomons was quick to claim that the experience will have done them good, while the players will also relish the opportunity to get even if, as seems well possible, they have to take on Gloucester in the Champions Cup play-offs in a few weeks time. But there was little support for the argument that they could be on the cusp of becoming a great European side in what happened across the road at Twickenham the following day.

It may not have been the final line-up the organisers dreamed of when they chose the venue, but Clermont and Toulon lived up to their billings as the aristocrats of European rugby. You could argue that France's top two sides, who may well meet again in their domestic final next month, could just as easily settle their differences by jousting with cheque books, but the sheer quality of the rugby they played was miles ahead of what Edinburgh - or, for that matter, Gloucester - might produce in the foreseeable future.

They were skilful, precise and they played with ferocious intensity. Ultimately, they also produced a contest that was a compelling contrast of rugby philosophies. Clermont tried to play with zip and artistry, but Toulon's organisation built a brick wall across the pitch. Clermont managed to breach it a couple of times, but Toulon were unquestionably the better side.

Drew Mitchell clinched it for Toulon with his sensational try 11 minutes from the end. It was hailed as one of the finest solo efforts a European final had ever seen, but a conversation with Sir Ian McGeechan shortly after the match put the score in a different context. The Grand Slam coach paid due tribute to Mitchell, but he stressed the team dimension as the try had its origins in a brilliant piece of deception when the Toulon pack threatened to drive a lineout, drew in the Clermont forwards, and created the space that Mitchell could exploit.

It was brilliant stuff, a score from another rugby dimension and a try worthy of winning a final. It tied up the hat-trick of titles for Toulon, the first side ever to be crowned champions of Europe three years on the trot. Only age can stop them now, as a good number of their players are north of 30. That or the possibility Mourad Boudjellal, their flamboyant and eye-wateringly rich owner, might grow bored of all this success and seek his vicarious pleasures elsewhere.

Until then, we are left with a couple of conclusions. The first is that the new European competitions look remarkably like the old, not that that is any bad thing. But the second is that we are now, unquestionably, in the era of a two-speed Europe, and Scotland is not in the fast lane.