“You speak like an artist and a man of even temperament,” broke in the Marchese Gualdro, who had finished his soup quickly in order to be able to talk—talking being his chief delight. “For me, I am never contented. I never have enough of anything! That is my nature. When I see lovely flowers, I wish more of them—when I behold a fine sunset, I desire many more such sunsets—when I look upon a lovely woman—”
“You would have lovely women ad infinitum!” laughed the French Capitaine de Hamal. “En vérité, Gualdro, you should have been a Turk!”
“And why not?” demanded Gualdro. “The Turks are very sensible people—they know how to make coffee better than we do. And what more fascinating than a harem? It must be like a fragrant hot-house, where one is free to wander every day, sometimes gathering a gorgeous lily, sometimes a simple violet—sometimes—”
“A thorn?” suggested Salustri.
“Well, perhaps!” laughed the Marchese. “Yet one would run the risk of that for the sake of a perfect rose.”
Chevalier Mancini, who wore in his button-hole the decoration of the Legion d’Honneur, looked up—he was a thin man with keen eyes and a shrewd face which, though at a first glance appeared stern, could at the least provocation break up into a thousand little wrinkles of laughter.
“There is undoubtedly something entrainant about the idea,” he observed, in his methodical way. “I have always fancied that marriage as we arrange it is a great mistake.”
“And that is why you have never tried it?” queried Ferrari, looking amused.
“Certissimamente!” and the chevalier’s grim countenance began to work with satirical humor. “I have resolved that I will never be bound over by the law to kiss only one woman. As matters stand, I can kiss them all if I like.”
A shout of merriment and cries of “Oh! oh!” greeted this remark, which Ferrari, however, did not seem inclined to take in good part.