She signed to them to wait.
She leaned over and flashed her great black eyes upon him.
"Monsieur enjoys himself like this every night in Paris ?" A soft, a very seductive, voice.

The woman who envied her success compared it to the purring of a cat.

Men as a rule found no fault with it, especially those who heard it for the first time.
Duncombe set down his glass, now almost empty.

He looked from the stain on the table-cloth into the eyes of Madame, and again she thought them very unlike the eyes of a drunken man.
"Why not?
It's the one city in the world to enjoy one's self in.
Half-past four, and here we are as jolly as anything.

Chucked out of everywhere in London at half-past twelve.