"Hein?"—and she showed all her little white pointed teeth—"Thou?—Thou art very rich, mon chou. Women will always feel for thee!"
It went in like a knife it was so true—.
"I was a very fine Englishman once," I said.
"It is possible, thou art still, sitting, and showing the right profile—and full of chic—and then rich, rich!"
"You could not forget that I am rich, Suzette?"
"If I did I might love you—Jamais!"
"And does the sea help to prevent an attack?"—
"Absence—and I go to a poor place I knew when I was young, and I wash and cook, and make myself remember what la vie dure was—and would be again if one loved—Bah! that does it. I come back cured—and ready only to please such as thou, Nicholas!—rich, rich!"
And she laughed again her rippling gay laugh—
We had a pleasant evening, she told me the history of her life—or some of it—They were ever the same from Lucien's Myrtale.