"They are innumerable," said Robineau.
"Faith! coquettish or sentimental, artless or passionate, they are fascinating," said Alfred; "except, however, when they run after us, follow us and set spies to watch all our movements."
"Oh! the devil! a woman who follows a man is a horrible creature! In the first place, it’s very bad form! But such a thing is never seen now."
"Yes it is, sometimes."
"For my part, messieurs," said Robineau, who persisted in talking constantly, although his tongue was beginning to thicken, "when a woman follows me, and I discover it—for when I don’t discover it, I close my eyes—but when she follows me, I say to her: ‘My dear love, you are following me about and I don’t like it. When I choose to be with you, I will tell you so; but if I choose to speak to another woman, I don’t need your presence in order to make myself agreeable; on the contrary, it paralyzes my faculties.’"
"Bravo! bravo!" laughed the young men; "he talks like Cicero."
"Now for the champagne, messieurs," said Alfred.
"Champagne it is!"
"Yes, champagne!" cried Robineau, "and let’s see who will drink the most; I never get drunk."
The corks popped, they partook freely of the champagne, and soon everybody was speaking at the same moment and each imagined that he was being listened to. But amid the uproar and the outbursts of laughter, Robineau succeeded in making himself heard because he shouted louder than all the others, and the tipsier he grew, the more he insisted upon arguing to prove that wine did not go to his head.