Meanwhile across the garden couples, who had been glad to escape from
the close air of the great drawing room, were wandering away under the
roseate gleam of the Venetian lamps, and shadowy dresses kept flitting
along the edge of the lawn, as though in rhythmic time to the music of
the quadrille, which sounded sweet and distant behind the trees.
Steiner had just met with Foucarmont and La Faloise, who were drinking a
glass of champagne in front of the buffet.
"It's beastly smart," said La Faloise as he took a survey of the purple
tent, which was supported by gilded lances. "You might fancy yourself at
the Gingerbread Fair. That's it--the Gingerbread Fair!"
In these days he continually affected a bantering tone, posing as the
young man who has abused every mortal thing and now finds nothing worth
taking seriously.
"How surprised poor Vandeuvres would be if he were to come back,"
murmured Foucarmont. "You remember how he simply nearly died of boredom
in front of the fire in there. Egad, it was no laughing matter."
"Vandeuvres--oh, let him be. He's a gone coon!" La Faloise disdainfully
rejoined. "He jolly well choused himself, he did, if he thought he could
make us sit up with his roast-meat story! Not a soul mentions it now.
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