"
"O rare poet!" interrupted the Chevalier, with a droll turn of the head.
"This pleased the noble greatly. Men who have never found their ideals
grow near-sighted at sixty. The marriage was celebrated quietly; few
persons had ever heard of Gabrielle de Montbazon. Monsieur le Comte
returned to Paris and reopened his hotel. But he kept away from court
and mingled only with those who were in disfavor. Among his friends he
wore his young wife as one would wear a flower. He evinced the same
pride in showing her off as he would in showing off a fine horse, a
famous picture, a rare drinking-cup. Madame was at first dazzled; it
was such a change from convent life. He kept wondrous guard over her
the first year. He never had any young companions at the hotel; they
were all antique like himself. Paul, there is something which age
refuses to understand. Youth, like a flower, does not thrive in dusty
nooks, in dark cellars."
"How about mushrooms? They grow in cellars; and the thought of them
makes my mouth water."
"Paul, you are unkind to laugh."
"Have I not told you that I am drunk? Go on."
"Well, then, youth is like a flower; it must have air and sunshine, the
freedom of its graceful stem.
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