Rosédès smiled sadly. "Approach him," she said. "And at the first plate that arrives, insist."
Réginard kissed her hand and obeyed; but the Count refused obstinately. The viscount returned to his mother, who was very pale. "You see, he refused," she said.
"Yes, but why should that preoccupy you?"
"We women are singular, you know. I would with pleasure have seen the Count take something in my house, were it but a grain of cram. Perhaps he does not follow Arnorian customs, perhaps he has other preferences. Sans doute he drinks limpé from a golden cup. What is my salon to him, or glasses of cognac?"
"Mon Érou, non!" said the viscount, with animation. "In Lottaloria he partook of everything, even lembasagna."
"Perhaps he does not notice the heat, having always dwelt in burning climes?"
"He was complaining of suffocating just now, and even commanded a breeze to blow in this salon that interrupted several games of whist."
"Indeed," said Rosédès, "there is a way to confirm whether this abstinence is a parti pris."
