“He has a serious air, which I like.”
“Yes; it might even be called gloomy.”
“He may well have.”
“Really! Ah! Fanny, then you know his history?”
“Yes, mademoiselle; and a very curious one it is.”
“Well, relate it to me. Only suppress the details; you always give too many.”
“Three months ago, M. Louis was the finest dancer and the gayest young man in the city. Unfortunately, these young men are not always remarkable for uniformity. He lived like a prince for six years, and one fine morning found himself penniless.”
“And what did he do then?”
“They say—I am unwilling to believe it, but everybody says so—that he tried to drown himself.”
“A weak brain. That is not to his credit.”