In this way they went toward the boulevard, along which the rows of gas-jets flamed like some grand illumination.
"Paris!" said Rosas, "has a singular effect on one. It resumes its dominion over one at once on seeing it again, and it seems as if one had never left it. I have hardly unpacked my trunks, and here I am again transformed into a Parisian."
"Paris is like absinthe!" said Guy. "As soon as one uncorks the bottle, one commences to drink it again."
"Absinthe! there you are indeed, you Frenchmen, who everlastingly calumniate your country. What an idea, comparing Paris with absinthe!"
"A Parisian's idea, parbleu! You have not been here two days and you are already intoxicated with Parisine, you said so yourself. The hasheesh of the boulevard."
"Perhaps it is not Parisine only that has, in fact, affected my brain," said Rosas.
"No doubt, it is also the Parisienne. Madame Marsy is very pretty."
"Charming," said Rosas coldly.
"Less charming than Mademoiselle Kayser!"
Guy sent a whiff of smoke from his cigar floating on the night breeze, while awaiting the duke's reply; but José pursued his way beside his friend, without uttering a word, as if he were suddenly absorbed, and Lissac, who had allowed the conversation to lapse, sought to reopen it: "Then," he said suddenly,—dropping the name of Mademoiselle Kayser:—"You will be in Paris for some time, Rosas?"