“The best I ever ate.”
“She is famous for that,” he said, and looked at me again, pulling pensively at his mustache.
“Come, citizen,” he added, and this time he really smiled, “it is evident that you are not the game I am after.”
“I should hope so,” I agreed.
“I am looking for a wolf, not for a mouse.”
“At least I am not a wolf,” I conceded.
“Old Dubosq has seen too much of the world to be mistaken in a matter so clear as this,” he continued, throwing out his chest. “A conspirator? Bah! You don’t know its meaning. You’re too pink and white—too much of the nursery—its odor clings to you! Why, infant, you’ve never before been away from your mother!”
I flushed, and he burst into a roar of laughter as he saw my face.
“A hit!” he cried. “Ah, citizen, would I could blush like that! But for Dubosq that day is past and far away. Come, my friend, all you need is a little knowledge of the world to be a perfect devil with the ladies. Join my troop and let Dubosq finish you, polish you, give you the true air. Come; it shall be my revenge.”
“Your revenge?”