Bertin smiled.
“I? I love it!” he declared.
“But then——”
“I despise myself a little, as a mongrel of doubtful race.”
“All that sort of talk is nothing but a pose,” said the Duchess.
And, as he denied having any intention of posing, she cut short the discussion by declaring that all artists try to make people believe that chalk is cheese.
The conversation then became general, touching upon everything, ordinary and pleasant, friendly and critical, and, as the dinner was drawing toward its end, the Countess suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the full glasses of wine that were ranged before her plate:
“Well, you see that I have drunk nothing, nothing, not a drop! We shall see whether I shall not grow thin!”
The Duchess, furious, tried to make her swallow some mineral water, but in vain; then she exclaimed:
“Oh, the little simpleton! That daughter of hers will turn her head. I beg of you, Guilleroy, prevent your wife from committing this folly.”