"Is she a great friend of yours?" asked Nina, when she and he were a little in advance of the others.
"I have known her some time."
"And you are very intimate, I suppose, as she called you by your Christian name?"
He smiled a smile that puzzled Nina. "Oh! we soon get familiar here!"
"Where are you going to see her again this evening?" she persevered, playing with her parasol fringe.
"At her own house—a house that will charm you. By the way, it once belonged to Bussy Rabutin, and it has all Louis Quatorze furniture."
"Is it a dinner?—a ball?"
"No, an Opera supper—she is famed for her Sillery and her mots. Ten to one I shall not go; what amuses one once palls with repetition."
"I don't understand that," said Nina, quickly; "what I like, I like pour toujours."
"Pauvre enfant! you little know life," muttered Ernest. "Ah! Miss Gordon, you are at the happy age when one can believe in the feelings and friendships, and all the charming little romances of existence. But I have passed it, and so that I am amused for a moment, so that something takes time off my hands, I look no further, and expect no more. I know well enough the champagne will cease to sparkle, but I drink it while it foams, and don't trouble myself to lament over it. Qu'importe? when one bottle's empty, there is another!"