"Of what are you dreaming, divine Manola?" said the Marquis de Sénange, as he approached Camilla, taking her hand and passing it through his arm.
"Why—of you, perhaps!" replied the courtesan, displaying a double row of teeth of irreproachable whiteness.
"Of me! of me! Ah! if I could believe it!—Look you, Camilla—your eyes and this costume were quite enough to turn my head; but the words you have uttered make me mad with love!"
"Well! what harm would it do, after all, if you were a little mad? It would not change you much, I should say."
"Camilla, I would gladly endure all possible tortures, pass through every conceivable trial, if you would reward me by allowing me to love you!"
"Love me! why, what prevents you? Have you not as much right to love me as another man?"
"But let us understand each other, adorable siren! It is not cheerful to love all by one's self! Love is increased twofold when it is shared."
"Indeed! What a pity that it is not so with everything! I would become very charitable!"
"Look you, Camilla, have you not been faithful to Léodgard long enough? Frankly, you cover yourself with ridicule! A woman with such a wealth of attractions is a flower; it is not fair that a single man should inhale all her perfume!"
"Ah! marquis, you wish to plunder your friend's garden!"