“No,” said Lady Griffith; “the fountains bore me. I had rather go to Rambouillet; there’s time. We shan’t have such a good dinner, but we shall be able to talk more easily. I want Vincent to tell you his fish stories. He knows some marvellous ones. I don’t know if what he says is true, but it’s more amusing than the best novel in the world.” “That’s not perhaps what a novelist will think,” said Vincent. Robert de Passavant held an evening paper in his hand: “D’you know that Brugnard has just been made assistant-secretary at the Ministry of Justice? Now’s the moment to get your father decorated,” said he, turning to Vincent. Vincent shrugged his shoulders. “My dear Vincent,” went on Passavant, “allow me to say that you’ll very much offend him by not asking this little favour--which he’ll be so delighted to refuse.” “Suppose you were to start by asking it for yourself,” Vincent replied. Robert made an affected little grimace: “No; for my part, my vanity consists in never blushing--not even in my buttonhole.” Then, turning to Lilian: “Do you know it’s rare nowadays to find a man who has reached forty without either the syph or the legion of honour?” Lilian smiled and shrugged her shoulders: “For the sake of a _bon-mot_ he actually consents to make himself out older than he is! I say, is it a quotation from your next book? It’ll be tasty.... Go on downstairs. I’ll get my cloak and follow you.” “I thought you had given up seeing him,” said Vincent to Robert on the staircase. “Who? Brugnard?” “You said he was so stupid....” “My dear friend,” replied Passavant, pausing on a step and holding up Molinier, for he saw Lady Griffith coming and wanted her to hear: “you must know there’s not a single one of my friends whom I’ve known a certain time, that hasn’t given me unmistakable proofs of imbecility. I assure you that Brugnard resisted the test longer than a great many others.” “Than I, perhaps?” asked Vincent. “Which doesn’t prevent me from being your best friend ... as you see.” “And that’s what’s called wit in Paris,” said Lilian, who had joined them. “Take care, Robert; there’s nothing fades quicker.” “Don’t be alarmed, dear lady; words only fade when they’re printed.” They took their places in the car and drove off. As their conversation continued to be very witty, it is useless to record it here. They sat down to table on the terrace of a hotel overlooking a garden where the shades of night were gathering. Under cover of the evening, their talk grew slower and graver; urged on by Lilian and Robert, Vincent found himself at last the only speaker. XVII THE EVENING AT RAMBOUILLET “I SHOULD take more interest in animals if I were less interested in men,” Robert had said. And Vincent had replied: