The cork went pop, their tongues went nineteen to the dozen, and the time went so rapidly that a little clock on the chest of drawers became a positive killjoy.
"By all the laws of dramatic effect," remarked the poet, as they trifled with the almonds and raisins, "you will now divulge that the fashionable lady before me is no 'Rosalie Durand,' of a hairdresser's shop, but madame la comtesse de Thrilling Mystery. Every novel reader would be aware that at this stage you will demand some dangerous service of me, and that I shall forthwith risk my life and win your love."
"Bien sûr! That is how it ought to be," she agreed.
"Is it impossible?"
"That I can be a countess?"
"Well, we will waive the 'countess'; and for that matter I will not insist on risking my life; but what about the love?"
"Without the rest," she demurred, "the situation would be too commonplace. When I can tell you that I am a countess I will say also that I love you; to-night I am Rosalie Durand, a friend. By the way, now I come to think of it, I shall be all that you have seen in London!"
"Why, I declare, so you will!" exclaimed Tricotrin. "Really this is a nice thing! I come to England for the benefit of my education—and when it is almost time for me to return, I find that I have spent the whole of the day in a room."
"But you have, at least, had a unique experience in it?" she queried with a whimsical smile.
"Well, yes; my journey has certainly yielded an adventure that none of my acquaintances would credit! Do you laugh at me?"