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"
"What a luxurious picture you draw, Captain Trevalyon," said Vaura
gayly, "and what an epicure! you dwell with such pleasure upon each
dish, your livers, your--"
"_Pardonnez_," answered Trevalyon, laughing; "not mine, the turtle's"
and continuing with mock gravity, "I never expect mine to be dressed
at Voisin's."
"Horrible! a too warm anticipation of torment," cried Vaura.
"Torment!" said their host, stepping forward as a servant announced
them, and tortures are obsolete words in gay Paris and even in the
reign of terror, such a fair vision would surely have escaped. "A
hundred thousand welcomes," he continued, shaking hands with all, "and
I feel sure no bachelor under the McMahon _regime_ is so highly
favoured as Edward F. Bertram to-night."
"Listen," cried Vaura, "Mr. Bertram will put to shame the gay gallants
of Paris, in the making of pretty speeches; I believe the air of this
room is conducive to that sort of thing; I feel inclined to say
something complimentary on the beauty and comfort of our host's
surroundings myself.


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