In the passage on to which the doors of the private supper-rooms opened, we were met by a young but full-grown satyr, who slipped his arm under mine, and looked into my face. And yet I did not cease to laugh. It was revenge I craved—debauch—oblivion of all!
Gina’s terrified looks were expostulating with me.
“We have nothing to lose,” I returned to their speechless appeal. And thereupon she too fell a-laughing strangely.
The creature whose arm was in mine kept chattering incessantly ... about I know not what. A waiter respectfully opened the door of a small private room, and we all three went in.
“I presume, ladies, you have been at the play?” our gentleman inquired, having remarked the dresses we wore.
“Ha, ha!” I answered. “Right you are. Been at one play, and come to another.” There was not less coarse ribaldry in my tones than in my words.
“That’s first-rate.—The bill of fare, waiter!—What will you take?”
“To eat, nothing. We want to drink, to drink, to drink!”
“Very good!” he exclaimed, in a tone of pleased surprise. “Coffee and liqueur—cognac—champagne?”
“All right: anything and everything, my dear man!”