"What you were going to tell us."
"Oh! I beg your pardon, messieurs! You see, the wine we have drunk has confused my memory, and I should find it hard to recall what I said to you just now. And, to tell you the truth, instead of making speeches about the best way of loving, which never prove anything, because every man loves in his own way, which is the best to his mind, it seems to me that it would be much more amusing for each of us to tell about one of his bonnes fortunes, old or new, according to his pleasure.—What do you say, messieurs?"
My suggestion was welcomed by enthusiastic plaudits; only Monsieur Faisandé made a wry face, and muttered:
"The deuce, messieurs, tell one of our bonnes fortunes! Why, that's a very delicate subject. I didn't suppose that such things were talked about, as a general rule. Discretion, messieurs, is the duty of an honorable man, and, above all, of a lady's man."
"Oh! bless my soul, Monsieur Faisandé, if you don't mention any names, there's no indiscretion; and, as we are entitled to go back to ancient history, how in the devil are you going to recognize the characters?"
"This Monsieur Faisandé is very austere and very modest," murmured my neighbor, the bulky Rouffignard. "He is very foolish to venture with ne'er-do-wells of our temper."
"Especially," said Montricourt, "as the fellow's a great nuisance."
"Well, then, messieurs, Rochebrune's suggestion being adopted, who's to begin?"
"Parbleu! yourself, Dupréval; the honor is yours."
"Very good. Then it will be my right-hand neighbor's turn, and so on around the table."