Of all the party,
the only one affected by the heady atmosphere was Cydalise, who was
humming a tune. None of the party, with the exception of the poor
country girl, had lost their reason; the drinkers and the women were
the experienced _elite_ of the society that sups. Their wits were
bright, their eyes glistened, but with no loss of intelligence, though
the talk drifted into satire, anecdote, and gossip. Conversation,
hitherto confined to the inevitable circle of racing, horses,
hammerings on the Bourse, the different occupations of the _lions_
themselves, and the scandals of the town, showed a tendency to break
up into intimate _tete-a-tete_, the dialogues of two hearts.
And at this stage, at a signal from Carabine to Leon de Lora, Bixiou,
la Palferine, and du Tillet, love came under discussion.
"A doctor in good society never talks of medicine, true nobles never
speak of their ancestors, men of genius do not discuss their works,"
said Josepha; "why should we talk business? If I got the opera put off
in order to dine here, it was assuredly not to work.--So let us change
the subject, dear children."
"But we are speaking of real love, my beauty," said Malaga, "of the
love that makes a man fling all to the dogs--father, mother, wife,
children--and retire to Clichy."
"Talk away, then, 'don't know yer,'" said the singer.
The slang words, borrowed from the Street Arab, and spoken by these
women, may be a poem on their lips, helped by the expression of the
eyes and face.
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