"Doesn't anything ever happen to your values?" Brett asked.
"No. Not any more."
"Never fall in love?"
"Always," said the count. "I am always in love."
"What does that do to your values?"
"That, too, has got a place in my values."
"You haven't any values. You're dead, that's all."
"No, my dear. You're not right. I'm not dead at all."
We drank three bottles of the champagne and the count left the basket in my kitchen. We dined at a restaurant in the Bois. It was a good dinner. Food had an excellent place in the count's values. So did wine. The count was in fine form during the meal. So was Brett. It was a good party.
"Where would you like to go?" asked the count after dinner. We were the only people left in the restaurant. The two waiters were standing over against the door. They wanted to go home.
"We might go up on the hill," Brett said. "Haven't we had a splendid party?"
The count was beaming. He was very happy.
"You are very nice people," he said. He was smoking a cigar again. "Why don't you get married, you two?"
"We want to lead our own lives," I said.
"We have our careers," Brett said. "Come on. Let's get out of this."
"Have another brandy," the count said.
"Get it on the hill."
"No. Have it here where it is quiet."
"You and your quiet," said Brett. "What is it men feel about quiet?"
"We like it," said the count. "Like you like noise, my dear."
"All right," said Brett. "Let's have one."
"Sommelier!" the count called.
