“Yes; I have met you at Paris, at Vienna, at Rome and Naples.”
“By gad,” he said, “you flatter me by your memory.”
He began to notice that she never smiled, and it displeased him; he disliked a grave woman.
“What is your name?” he asked in the tone of a master, and sank back into the chair, for indeed he felt very weak.
She shook her head.
“I have so many.”
“Give me one.”
She bent her eyes on him earnestly.
“What was the name of your first love?” she asked.
He started.