"There was a dazzling blonde at the Bouffes last night. She attracted every eye." "Well! of course, you made inquiries about her, Lamberlong?" "Yes; she's the wife of a rich Spaniard, who is taking her to Brazil." "If he's taking her to Brazil, that's too far to follow her. But you must have had some romantic adventures in Italy, viscount? The women there are very revengeful, they say." "No more so than in France! I saw two or three little stilettos glisten in the girdle or the garter, but I didn't feel the point of one." "No great passions, then?" "Nothing, nothing! it's maddening! Love is vanishing, messieurs." "That isn't what says a young man who is always in the orchestra chairs at the Bouffes; he's in a fair way of dying of love for an actress; he won't say who she is." "Oh! but one must be an habitué of the Bouffes to do that sort of thing!--A cigarette, Lépinette." "Here is one, monsieur." "How many do you smoke a day, Edward?" "I don't know; I never counted them." "I'll bet that it's two dozen!" "I'll bet it's three!" "Pardieu! all you have to do is to ask my valet; he can give you more accurate information than anyone else on that subject." "Lépinette, how many cigarettes does your master smoke in a day--about?" Lépinette reflected a moment, then replied: "I have sometimes given monsieur le vicomte as many as sixty, messieurs; but it's never less than forty." "Ha! ha! ha! that is magnificent! sixty cigarettes a day! You deserve a prize, Edward. We'll order a wreath of cigarettes for you!" "Well, messieurs, what would you have? a man must do something; and when one has no other amusement----" "Oh! viscount, you can't make us believe that you haven't some beauty to whom you are devoted." "No, Florville, at this moment I love nobody. I am so utterly blasé on the subject of love! It is all over; my heart has lost the power of taking fire; the incendiary glances of my fair friends leave it as cold as ice. And then, when one knows women, one knows how much reliance may be placed on their oaths." "Oh! there are exceptions," said Dumarsey. "I remember, Edward, when you had a pretty young girl for a mistress--I think you had abducted her, found her at a linen draper's. She came from Lorraine. She was almost a peasant, and you sophisticated her." "Oh! yes, I remember! You mean Suzanne, don't you?" "Suzanne, yes, that was what you called her. She seemed to be very fond of you." "In other words, she loved me too much; it got to be insufferable. She was far too sentimental." "What did you do with the girl?" "What did I do with her? Faith, nothing! What do you expect a man to do with a girl of that sort, when she has once been his mistress, and he has had enough of her? I don't see that there's anything for him to do with her." "Then you don't know what became of her?"