"Not at all," replied the Count. "After having lent you my eagle, served you nuncheon, spent carnival in your company, and taken you to see that delightful execution, it would have been rude in the extreme to leave you to the tender mercies of the vanditti – besides of course rendering our present tête-à-tête impossible. For, as I said at the time, my intention was that you would serve to introduce me to the monde of Annuminas, as you have promised to do."
"I will keep my word; but I fear you will be disappointed, my dear Count. Here no adventure ever takes place, and if it did, it would be universally regarded by our staid citizens as a repulsive, uncomfortable thing that might make them late for their soirées. Our Lottaloria, c'est Mme. Bordelle's café; our Champs-Valinorées boast of far more bourgeois enjoying a mushroom with their mistresses, than archangelic beings; our Great Desert of Harade, c'est l'opéra de St.-Michel-D'Elvingue. Your robbers make pyramids of the skulls of their enemies; ours construct them of plum-seeds, and run with terror from any mangy dog that guards the mushroom fields. The one service I can do is to introduce you everywhere; but one with your name, fortune, esprit, and exquisite taste in jewellery has no need of introduction" (the Count bowed with a lightly ironic smile) "and is received everywhere. Nor can I share my lodging, for though I do not profess egoism, I am egoist par excellence, and so am constitutionally unable to share my lodgings except with a woman."
"Ah, voici a reserve altogether conjugal," said the Count. "Must I then congratulate you on your future happiness?"
