The dinner was cordial and merry. M. Raindal felt no longer the shyness and the self-consciousness of an unwelcome stranger which had made him stiff at first. From so much intercourse with the Chambannes, he had become familiar with the names of their relations, the ways of the house and the tastes of the guests. In consequence, there were very few conversations in which he now hesitated to take his share owing to discretion, fear of a faux-pas or ignorance of the subject. Nothing seemed to trouble him any more. The ogling and the perfume of Mme. Chambannes now proved to be nothing more than stimulants to his ready tongue. They addressed each other as comrades, with a slight touch of fatherly superiority on the part of M. Raindal and of willing submissiveness on that of Mme. Chambannes. Even Chambannes made use, when he spoke to the master, of such turns of speech as were reserved as a rule for old friends. How different from the first dinner, when M. Raindal had felt himself so awkward and slow in recovering his heartiness. When Uncle Panhias admitted, absent-mindedly or under the effect of the wines, that Smyrna was his native town, the master almost congratulated him! Smyrna, the pearl of Tonia, was an exquisite city; its Greek name meant myrrh or incense, the perfume beloved of the gods. He never stopped until dessert was served, praising the city, supporting his theory with anecdotes and historical reminiscences. Aunt Panhias thanked him with enthusiastic replies that were to each of his sentences as the rolling of a drum. When they went to the smoking-room, Zozé asked M. Raindal's leave to light a cigarette. Then, by slow degrees, she went over to Gerald. He had let himself fall down on the divan and was sending spirals of smoke to the ceiling through his pouting lips. She sat beside him and asked coaxingly: "What are you making a face for?" He did not reply at first but, after a while, he grunted. "Is this kangaroo going to be here often?" Zozé suppressed a smile. "I don't know! I hope you are not jealous." Gerald sneered contemptuously. "Jealous!... Well.... No!... But he does bore me somewhat!... Your little friend is too fond of hearing himself talk." He rose and joined Chambannes, who was pouring himself a glass of brandy in front of the liqueur cabinet. M. Raindal was unconsciously gratified when he saw their conversation ended. He was taking careful stock of "young M. de Meuze," as Zozé had termed him; young Gerald was in the light of a lamp over which he bent in order to relight his cigar. Well, he was not so very young, in spite of appearances! The light now revealed at the corners of his eyes, of his lips and of his nostrils, through his still firm, youthful face, undefined lineaments, the colorless signs of forthcoming lines; and the veins were beginning to stand out on his temples.