A flush tinged the cheek of Camors as he answered, quietly, "You are really too good."
They walked a moment in silence over the gravel path bordered by grass, before Lescande spoke again.
"And yourself, dear friend, I hope that you also are happy."
"I—happy!" Camors seemed a little astonished. "My happiness is simple enough, but I believe it is unclouded. I rise in the morning, ride to the Bois, thence to the club, go to the Bois again, and then back to the club. If there is a first representation at any theatre, I wish to see it. Thus, last evening they gave a new piece which was really exquisite. There was a song in it, beginning:
'He was a woodpecker,
A little woodpecker,
A young woodpecker—'
and the chorus imitated the cry of the woodpecker! Well, it was charming, and the whole of Paris will sing that song with delight for a year. I also shall do like the whole of Paris, and I shall be happy."
"Good heavens! my friend," laughed Lescande, "and that suffices you for happiness?"
"That and—the principles of 'eighty-nine," replied Camors, lighting a fresh cigar from the old one.
Here their dialogue was broken by the fresh voice of a woman calling from the blinds of the balcony—
"Is that you, Theodore?"