"Paid? It wouldn't have been good enough if you'd paid a million. You knew—you knew who was getting the best of it. Paid? What's the use of the money without any fun? Do you think fine clothes make up for that? I want to be danced with, I want to be kissed. To hell with your money—I want love!"
"Don't talk so loudly, don't! That man's looking at us."
"He's not looking at me. No man ever looks at me. Paid? If we were both as we were, you could pay some other fool—it wouldn't be me you'd get!"
"If we were both as we were, I'd pay no one," groaned madame de Val Fleury.
"What?"
"It's true. Quite, quite true."
For a moment they were silent again, studying each other. Then madame de Val Fleury said breathlessly:
"I want to ask you something. Come home with me—get into my car. Don't abuse me any more, don't rail at me—I'm an old woman and I can't bear it."
As the car bore them away, she explained herself, weeping.
"I know it seems strange to you, my not being satisfied—I know I've got the things you want so much. But you retain the capacity to enjoy those things, and I don't. If I could have had your youth as well, it would have been different. The old are happiest in their old ways, with their old friends. We both made an error. If—do you think, if we were to go there again——?" Berthe Cheron turned to her wildly. "If we were to go there again?" she gasped.