"After all," he muttered, "among all these fine ladies there isn’t one who comes up to Fifine! And if Fifine had a tulle gown, and a wreath in her hair, and some of those great bracelets with antique cameos—ah! what a sensation she’d make!—I’ll take a look at the écarté table. I will carelessly bet a five-franc piece.—Ah! the deuce! there are ices; I’ll begin by seizing one on the wing."
Robineau took an ice, and, in order to eat in comfort, seated himself behind two gentlemen of mature years, who were talking together in a small salon between the ball-room and the card-room.
"How he has changed!" observed one of the two gentlemen, looking at Monsieur de Marcey, who happened to pass through the salon.
"Changed! whom do you mean?"
"De Marcey."
"Oh! do you think so?"
"If you had known De Marcey twenty-five years ago, as I did, my dear Dolmont——"
"Parbleu! that’s just it—twenty-five years ago; and it seems to you that it was only yesterday—and that he ought to appear the same to-day."
"No, no, I don’t say that.—Dear De Marcey! We made the Austerlitz campaign together."
"Oho! were you at Austerlitz?"