"White heron, as I live! You are, then, about to seek the war-path?" laughing.
"Or the path which leads to it. I am going a-courting."
"Ah!"
"Yes. Heigho! How would you like a pheasant, my poet, and a bottle of Mignon's bin of '39?"
"Paris!" Victor smacked his lips drolly.
"Or a night at Voisin's, with dice and the green board?"
"Paris!"
"Or a romp with the girls along the quays?"
"Horns of Panurge! I like this mood."
"It's a man's mood. I am thinking of the château of oak and maple I shall some day build along some river height. What a fireplace I shall have, and what cellars! Somehow, Paris no longer calls to me."