but Chu-Chu smiled wickedly and looked the other way.
Léontine and I went back to the table, both of us rather pensive. Presently she said:
"That was the Countess Rosalie, who took you out to Hertzfeld's the other day, then waited to bring you back—afterward."
"Quite so," I answered.
Léontine raised her eyebrows. "A conquest?" she asked.
"Rather more than that—a good, disinterested friend."
"Really?" Léontine toyed with her poulet-au-riz. Her colour faded slightly. "Comparisons are not polite, mon ami," she said.
"I wasn't making them. I never considered you in the light of a conquest."
"What then?"
"Oh, merely a woman of uncommon beauty and attainments, balked of a passing whim for the first time in her life."
She laughed and seemed pleased. The cleverest of women—Léontine was scarcely that, being more a creature of instinct than intellectuality—are seldom immune from flattery.
"Does Chu-Chu know that she was driving me that day?" I asked.
"Of course not." Léontine poured out a little red wine and tasted it critically "Ugh!"—she gave a little shudder—"the stuff has a blood flavour!"
"Léontine!" My voice was sharp, I think, because she looked up in surprise and the high cheeks began to grow dusky.
