“The Vicomte looks to-night as the Vicomte de Nérac should,” she remarked quietly. “But is it my presence here or is it my perfume that perplexes you?”
And André started again at her unerring divination.
“Surely it is very simple,” she proceeded. “Recall, if you please, a supper party in London—the perfume was there then—now it is here. That is all.”
“What?” He stopped in sheer amazement. “You are that—that woman?”
“Certainly. The same, only a trifle disguised. In London I was dark, in Paris I am fair, because,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I love change and I hate being recognised unless I choose. You will not betray my secret, will you?”
“No. But why are you in Paris?”
“Women like myself,” she answered cynically, “are always dying of ennui, and I was born a Parisienne. Can a Parisienne live without Paris? Well, I cannot. London, mon Dieu! Those suffocating English! They make love as they eat beef and drink beer. Their women are prudes, their men heavy as bull-dogs made of lead. London is a ville de province—no wit, no ideas, no life. Here,” she pointed with her fan, “it is far different. Where will you find the like of that for gaiety of heart, and sparkle of the soul? It is the city of breeding, of philosophers, of poets, of chivalry, and of lovers. Why, that grisette over there can be more spirituelle than an Englishman of genius. And when even the lovers who make love with ardour and in couplets that sing of themselves become annoying I go elsewhere.”
André listened with a puzzled delight. It was not the perfume—it was the mystery that enveloped her which kept him silent. Something in her voice, her manner, reminded him in the most tantalising way of somebody else and for the life of him he could not think who that somebody was.
“No,” she replied to his invitation, “I will not disgrace you by dancing—you the Vicomte de Nérac and I—” she smiled. “Besides you have seen me dance in the only kind of dancing that I care about. But see,” she added, dropping her voice, “do you not recognise a friend, perhaps a partner? Is she not charming—conquering and to conquer?”
“Name of a dog!” he ejaculated.