You are my good English Marcus, and worth all masculine Paris put together." "I thank you, my dear, for the compliment," said I, "but surely you must exaggerate." "To me you are worth the masculine universe," said Judith, and she seated me by her side on the sofa, held my hands, and said more foolish things.
When the tempest had abated, I laughed.
"It is you that have acquired the art of transports in Paris," said I.
"Perhaps I have.

Shall I teach you ?" "You will have to learn moderation, my dear Judith," I remarked.

"You have been living too rapidly of late and are looking tired." "It is only the journey," she replied.
I am sure it is the unaccustomed dissipation.

Judith is not a strong woman, and late hours and eternal gadding about do not suit her constitution.

She has lost weight and there are faint circles under her eyes.