“It is no use, your smile, mademoiselle. He is impervious, that man. He has no sense or he could not turn his eyes away.”
“I like best the impervious ones.” With a light ripple of laughter she turned again to her right. “Monsieur has forgotten?”
“Forgotten?” Robert was mystified until he realized in the instant that she was pretending to a former acquaintance. “Could I forget, mademoiselle? Permit me.” He lifted his glass. “To your eyes––and to your––memory,” he said, and drank it off.
After that he became the gayest of them all, and the merriment never flagged. He ate heartily, for he was very hungry, but he drank sparingly. His brain seemed supplied with intellectual missiles which he hurled right and left, but when they struck, it was only to send out a rain of sparks like the balls of holiday fireworks that explode in a fountain of brilliance and hurt no one.
“Monsieur is so gay!” said the soft voice of the blonde at his side.
“Are we not here for that, to enjoy ourselves?”
“Ah, if I could but believe that you remember me!”
“Is it possible mademoiselle thinks herself one to be so easily forgotten?”
“Monsieur, tell me the truth.” She glanced up archly. “I have one very good reason for asking.”