"My head swims, in fancying!"
Her laughter rippled again, and her fascination was so intense that the poor fellow could scarcely taste a mouthful of his unique repast. "Talk to me," she commanded, "sensibly I mean! Where do you live?"
"I am living in the rue Ravignan."
"The rue Ravignan? Where is that?"
"Montmartre."
"Oh, really?" She seemed chilled. "It is not a very nice quarter in the daytime, is it?"
"My studio suits me," murmured Goujaud, perceiving his fall in her esteem. "For that reason I am reluctant to remove. An artist becomes very much attached to his studio. And what do I care for fashion, I? You may judge by my coat!"
"You're eccentric, aren't you?"
"Hitherto I have lived only for Art. But now I begin to realise that there may be something more potent and absorbing still."
"What is that?"