"Well, I was weary of the chopped grass cook calls spinach. I don't want seven years of Nebuchadnezzardom."
"Cook is angry when you don't eat her things, chéri. I find it difficult to get on with her, since you praised her dainty style. One would think she was the mistress and I the servant."
"Ah, Nonotte, you don't understand the artistic temperament." Then a twitch passed over his face. "You must give me a double dose of morphia to-night, darling."
"No, no; the doctor forbids."
"One would think he were the employer and I the employee," he grumbled smilingly. "But I daresay he is right. Already I spend 500 francs a year on morphia, I must really retrench. So run away, dearest, I have a good friend here to cheer me up."
She stooped down and kissed him.
"Ah, madame," she said, "it is very good of you to come and cheer him up. It is as good as a new dress to me, to see a new face coming in, for the old ones begin to drop off. Not the dresses, the friends," she added gaily, as she disappeared.
"Isn't she divine?" cried Heine enthusiastically.
"I am glad you love her," his visitor replied simply.
"You mean you are astonished. Love? What is love? I have never loved."