"I'm devoted to the expression."
"The deuce of it is, you profess to be married."
"Do you mean to say that you, with your unprincipled foreign notions, would be restrained by any such consideration as that?" she wondered.
"I shouldn't be for an instant—if I weren't in love with you."
"Comment donc? Déjà?" she cried with a laugh.
"Oh, déjà! Why not? Consider the weather—consider the scene. Is the air soft, is it fragrant? Look at the sky—good heavens!—and the clouds, and the shadows on the grass, and the sunshine between the trees. The world is made of light to-day, of light and color, and perfume and music. Tutt 'intorno canta amor, amor, amor! What would you have? One recognises one's affinity. One doesn't need a lifetime. You began the business at the Wohenhoffens' ball. To-day you've merely put on the finishing touches."
"Oh, then I am the woman you met at the masked ball?" she cried.
"Look me in the eye, and tell me you're not," he defied her.
"I haven't the faintest interest in telling you I'm not. On the contrary, it rather pleases me to let you imagine that I am."
"She owed me a grudge, you know. I hoodwinked her like everything," he confided.