She laughed again and turned to Quixtus.
“How long are you going to stay in Paris?”
“Just a day or two longer—till the end of my Congress.”
“Oh! How can you leave Paris when she’s looking her best without devoting a few days to admiring her? It’s unkind.”
“I’m afraid Paris must get over the slight.”
“But don’t you love Paris? I do. It is so fascinating; dangerous, treacherous. Plunge into it for a moment or two and it is the Fountain of Youth. Remain in the water a little longer than is prudent, and you come out shrivelled and wrinkled, with all your youth and beauty gone from you.”
“Perhaps I have already had my prudent plunge,” said Quixtus; with a smile.
“I’m sure you haven’t. You’ve been on dry land all the time. Worse than that—in a quaternary formation. Have you dined at Armenonville?”
“In my time I have; but not this time.”
“Voilà,” said Mrs. Fontaine. “The warm June nights, the Bois in the moonlight with all its mysteries of shadow, the fairy palace in the midst of it where you eat fairy things surrounded by the gaiety and sparkle and laughter of the world—essential and symbolical Paris—you disregard it all. And that is only one little instance. There are a thousand others. You’ve not even wetted your feet.”