"Now, do not say it proved for worse."
"It was for worse," said Dupleisis. "My family were treated shabbily; 'the muse is a maiden of good memory,' but a cocote; my satiric efforts were rewarded by a lettre de cachet."
"What a loss to France!"
"At the accession of the Emperor, I returned, a prodigal son of Mars, and now manage to sustain myself by——"
"By writing sonnets to Brazilian hospitality," interrupted mademoiselle.
Dupleisis bowed gravely. "Anxious to do so, mademoiselle, but I have not, as yet, collected sufficient material."
The retort crimsoned the lady's face, and Dupleisis adroitly covered her confusion by asking her to sing.
"What will you say to me, when you speak of yourself as though you were a block of wood?"
"The prosy geologist talks pedantically of a granite rock, and is mute when he sees the flower that blooms above it."
"Mon Dieu, M. Dupleisis! I cannot sit by and hear Chamfort so ruthlessly robbed."