Lady B. (seriously).—“How can you suppose such things?”
La Comtesse.—“How can I? (kissing her.) Dear child, how refreshing you are! However, what is perfectly certain is that, although rather light-headed with the two glasses of champagne that the Count had poured out for me, I saw quite clearly that he was locking the door.”
Lady B.—“Oh! I should have screamed.”
La Comtesse.—“I had a great mind to; but what was the good? No law protects a woman from her husband; you know that. We have no Woman’s Protection Society in France yet; you have, you see.... I had risen indeed, but the Count had seized me in his arms.... By the way, don’t you think there is something curiously fascinating in the idea of a woman in the strong arms of the man she loves and who adores her ... as they stand, she helpless, almost perdue ... perdue in the arms of your husband, it is not dangerous ... on se retrouve, you know ... he, holding her up, and gazing into her face with eyes that seem to devour her....”
Lady B.—“Don’t talk about it.”
La Comtesse.—“Then....”
Lady B.—“Call the waiter, and let us have the coffee, my dear Comtesse: it is high time.”
La Comtesse.—“I will do something better than that: I will give you a cup of tea ... à l’anglaise.” (She rings.)