"Oh, but there are heaps of other difficulties."
"There are none other."
She pouted deliciously. "You don't know everything under the sun."
"Under your aureole of hair, do you mean?"
"What if I do?" she smiled back. "You must not trust me too far. I am a spoilt child—wild, unbridled, unaccustomed to please others except by pleasing myself."
Her actress-nature enjoyed the picture of herself. She felt that Baudelaire himself would have admired it. Lassalle's answer was subtly attuned:
"My Satanic enchantress! my bewitching child of the devil."
"Bien fou qui s'y fie. When I lived at Nice in that royal Bohemia, where musicians rubbed shoulders with grand-duchesses, and the King of Bavaria exchanged epigrams with Bulwer Lytton, do you know what they called me?"
"The Queen of all the Follies!"
"You know?"