“That is not so bad, then. But where is your wife?”
“Tullia? She is in the third box to the left.”
“Alone?”
“With La Palférine.”
“Bixion, your last caricatures were infamous.”
“Bah! I would like to see you try your hand at them, with the censure at your heels.”
“How are you, Lou de Lora? How are you, Stedman? Your exposition is superb. Ah, my friends, you are the princes of the Musée. But I say, Stedman, Pradier has just died: there is a fine place open.”
“Yes; but then, alas, there are men who can never be replaced.”
All these questions and answers bounded like the balls which two clever players serve and receive in a well-played game of tennis.
M. de Rastignac turned to me. “Are you as incredulous as before?” he smilingly inquired.