"For my own part," said the Sire de Beausseilly, "there is something that surprises me more than the present magnificence of the Comte de Marvejols."
"What is that?" asked Monclair, after tossing off another glass of Cyprus.
"Well, messieurs, it is the strange expression that has characterized our host for some time past; the sad or gloomy look that is always in his eyes, even among us, in the midst of our merrymaking, and when he hears nothing but joyous words and songs all around him!"
"Well, upon my word! that is delicious!—You are mad, Beausseilly!—He would like to make us believe now that Léodgard is sad when he gives us a fête! Why, he sang at the table only a moment ago!"
"He did sing, I admit it; but his expression was no more hilarious, for all that; he tried to appear so—that may be; but there is a long distance between real gayety and bursts of forced laughter!"
"Nonsense, Beausseilly! no more of that; I fancy, my dear fellow, that the fumes of this Spanish wine are beginning to go to your head!"
"No, messieurs, I am quite sober, I am in full possession of my senses. I will not agree to retain them all night, by the way, for there are some lovely eyes here quite capable of depriving me of them!—But to return to Léodgard. Come, I will leave it to his mistress; ask Camilla if she does not think that his manner is less cheerful, less frank, less open, than it used to be.—Answer, O terrestrial divinity!"
The beautiful courtesan took a bunch of flowers from a vase and threw it in Beausseilly's face, saying:
"You do not know what you are talking about; Léodgard is charming; try to be as gallant as he, and all the ladies will adore you.—Do you want to see a serious cavalier, who never laughs, and who does not even look at the ladies?—Well, I will show you one now—there is no need to seek far. See—that man all in black at yonder card table; if you have seen him smile once to-night, I will give you my chin to kiss!"
"She means Jarnonville," said Sénange, laughing.