“I don’t know,” May continued, when they were seated--“I don’t know whether you will like the dinner--I have ordered very little. No soup, too hot, don’t you think? No oysters, there are none; all out visiting, the man said; for fish I have substituted a melon; fish, at the seaside, is never good; then we are to have white truffles, with a plain sauce, a chateaubriand, salad, a bit of cheese--_voilà_! How will that suit you?” Lenox nodded, as who should say, had I ordered it myself it could not be more to my taste, and thus encouraged, May offered him a glass of Amer Picon, a beverage that smells like an orange and looks like ink. The dinner passed off pleasantly enough. The white truffles were excellent, and the chateaubriand cooked to a turn. The only fault to be found was with the Brie, which May seemed to think was not as flowing as it should be. “By the way,” he said at last when coffee was served, “you know Mirette is here?” “Mirette? Who is Mirette?” “Why, good gad! My dear fellow, Mirette is Mirette; the one adorable, unique, divine Mirette. You don’t mean to say you never heard of her!” “I do, though perhaps she may have had the good fortune to hear of me.” “Heavens alive, man! don’t you read the papers?” Lenox smiled. “Why should I? I am not interested in the community. It might be stricken with dry-rot, elephantiasis and plica polonica for ought I care. Besides, there is nothing in them; the English papers are all advertisements and aridity, the French are frivolous and obscene. I mind neither frivolity nor obscenity; both have their uses, as flowers and cesspools have theirs; but I object to them served with my breakfast. I think if once a year a man would read a summary of the twelvemonth, he would get in ten minutes a digest of all that might be necessary to know, and what is more to the point, he would have to his credit a clear profit of two hundred hours at the very least, and two hundred hours rightly employed are sufficient for the acquirement of such a knowledge of a foreign language as will permit a man to make love in it gracefully. No, I seldom read the papers, so forgive my ignorance as to Mirette.” “After such an explanation I shall have to. But if you care to learn by word of mouth that which you decline to read in print, Mirette is _premier sujet_.” “In the ballet, you mean.” “Yes, in the ballet, and I can’t for the life of me think of a ballet without her.” “She must have gone to your head.” “And to every one’s who has seen her.” “You say she is here?” “Yes, she’ll be at the Casino to-night; I’ll present you if you say so.” “I might take a look at her, but I fancy I shalt be occupied elsewhere.” “As you like.” May drew out his watch. “It’s after nine,” he added, “if we are going to the Casino we had better be t-toddling.” On the way there May entered a tobacconist’s, and Lenox waited for him without. As he loitered on the curb, Blydenburg rounded an adjacent corner.