"Not a bit—I am disgusted. Two people supposed to be sensible, billing and cooing over a package of old flowers, after being married, let me see—how long?"
"Six years to-day."
"And after six years of marriage you are still in the region of romance? Will you allow a bachelor, an intimate friend of your husband's, to congratulate you with all his heart? I declare I almost envy your happiness."
"Well, get married yourself!" exclaimed Dora; "it is very easy."
"Not for the world," said he, in a bantering tone. "I am too fond of woman in the plural to ever love one in the singular. Besides, I could never marry a woman unless I could respect her."
"Naturally."
"Well!" exclaimed de Lussac, laughing heartily, "I don't believe I could respect a woman who would be willing to marry me."
"Oh! come, you are like most Frenchmen," said Dora, "not so bad as you would make people believe. You will succumb to the temptation all in good time. You will marry, you will love your wife, and, what is more, you will make the most docile of husbands. It is the most recalcitrant of you that generally become the model husbands in the end."
"Heaven forbid! I will succumb to every temptation you like to name except that one; if I ever find myself married I shall have been chloroformed before the ceremony. For fear of giving way to this temptation I will stick to all the others, in case they should forsake me—you see, I am a vagabond pure and simple."
"Women love vagabonds—many do at any rate. You will find a hundred for one that will have you."