Every one smiles 'sub rosa' at the idea that poor De K., who has gone to fetch cigars, pines away visibly, while his wife is so well.
"He is foolish; he works too hard, as I have told him. His position at the ministry—thanks, I never take sugar."
"But, really, it is serious, for after all he is not strong," ventures a guest, gravely, biting his lips meanwhile to keep from laughing.
"I think even that within the last year her beauty has developed," says a little gentleman, stirring his coffee.
"De K.'s beauty? I never could see it."
"I don't say that."
"Excuse me, you did; is it not so, Doctor?"
"Forsooth!"—"How now! Come, let us make the distinction."—"Ha, ha, ha!" And there is a burst of that hearty laughter which men affect to assist digestion. The ice is broken, they draw closer to each other and continue in low tones:
"She has a fine neck! for when she turned just now it looked as if it had been sculptured."
"Her neck, her neck! but what of her hands, her arms and her shoulders! Did you see her at Leon's ball a fortnight ago? A queen, my dear fellow, a Roman empress. Neck, shoulders, arms—"