"I think that any ladies who would consent to grace our dessert, at the behest of a waiter, would do it only on one condition; and men don't make a conquest of such women, as they give themselves to everybody." "Parbleu! messieurs, it is very amiable of us to listen to this discussion between Fouvenard and Balloquet as to which of them a woman would think the uglier; for my part, I prefer to demand an explanation of what Rochebrune said just now. He talked a long while, and I've no doubt he said some very nice things; but as I didn't quite understand him, I request an explanation of the picture, or the key to the riddle, if there is one." "Yes, yes, the key; for I didn't understand him, either." "Well, I did; I followed his reasoning: he says that a man can love a dozen women at once." "A dozen! why not thirty-six? What Turks you are, messieurs! Rochebrune didn't say that." "Yes, I did. Isn't it true?" "Messieurs, I desire the floor." "You may talk in a minute, Montricourt--after Rochebrune." "A toast first of all, messieurs!" "Oh! of course! When the host proposes a toast, we should be boors if we refused to honor it.--Fill the cups, waiter!" "This is very pretty, drinking champagne from cups; it recalls the banquets of antiquity--those famous feasts that Lucullus gave in the hall of Apollo, or of Mars." "Yes! those old bucks knew how to dine; every one of his suppers cost Lucullus about thirty-nine thousand francs in our money." "Bah! don't talk to me about your Romans, my dear fellow; I shall never take those people for models. They spent a lot of money for one repast, but that doesn't prove that they knew how to eat. In the first place, they lay on beds at the table! As if one could eat comfortably lying down! It's like eating on the grass, which is as unpleasant as can be; nobody likes eating on the grass but lovers, and they are thinking of something besides eating. As for your cups, they're pretty to look at, I agree, but they're less convenient for drinking than glasses, and the champagne doesn't foam so much in a cup; and then, you don't have the pleasure of making it foam all over again by striking your glass." "Say what you will, Monsieur Rouffignard, the Romans knew how to live." "Because they wore wreaths of roses at their meals, perhaps?" "Well, it isn't so very unpleasant to have flowers on your head." "Oh! don't talk to me, Monsieur Dumouton; let's all try wearing a wreath of roses, and you'll see what we look like--genuine buffoons, paraders, and nothing else!" "Simply because our dress isn't suited to it, monsieur; our style of dress is very disobliging, it isn't suited to anything; with the tunic and cloak falling in graceful folds, the wreath on the head was not absurd. And the slaves who served the ambrosia--in _tableau vivant_ costumes--weren't they attractive to the eye?"