"The Count's eloquence has decided me!" said Réginard. "We would indeed be milksops not to go." Arafrantz bowed his head to the inevitable, and vowed to smuggle some of the Count's mushrooms to the event in hopes of rendering it bearable.
A domestic arrived and announced that a man disguised as a gypsy faith-healer wished to speak to the Count.
"Messieurs," said the latter. "If you pass back into the salon, you will obtain fine cigars of Yavanna there; I will rejoin you in an instant."
"How do you find the Count?" asked Arafrantz of Réginard, as soon as they were alone.
"I find that he is charming, that he is a philosopher of the calibre of Gandault, and that he has excellent cigars," replied Réginard promptly, inhaling one of the latter. "And you?"
"He seems a bit above my likes and dislikes," said Arafrantz tactfully. "I did wonder, nonetheless, why he kept staring at you."
