"It is quite true. It is so sweet to think together about agreeable
things."

She raised her warm glance toward Saval, and they continued for some
seconds looking into each other's eyes. A slight, almost inaudible
movement took place beneath the table.

Servigny resumed: "Mam'zelle Yvette, you will make me believe that
you are in love if you keep on being as good as that. Now, with whom
could you be in love? Let us think together, if you will; I put
aside the army of vulgar sighers. I'll only take the principal ones.
Is it Prince Kravalow?"

At this name Yvette awoke: "My poor Muscade, can you think of such a
thing? Why, the Prince has the air of a Russian in a wax-figure
museum, who has won medals in a hairdressing competition."

"Good! We'll drop the Prince. But you have noticed the Viscount
Pierre de Belvigne?"

This time she began to laugh, and asked: "Can you imagine me hanging
to the neck of 'Raisine'?" She nicknamed him according to the day,
Raisine, Malvoisie, [Footnote: Preserved grapes and pears, malmsey,-
-a poor wine.] Argenteuil, for she gave everybody nicknames. And she
would murmur to his face: "My dear little Pierre," or "My divine
Pedro, darling Pierrot, give your bow-wow's head to your dear little
girl, who wants to kiss it."

"Scratch out number two. There still remains the Chevalier Valreali
whom the Marquise seems to favor," continued Servigny.