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Yvette pointed out Servigny with a nod of her head: "There he is, but I like him better than I do you, because he is less of a bore." The Chevalier Valreali bowed: "I do what I can, Mademoiselle. I may have less ability, but not less devotion." A gentleman came forward, tall and stout, with gray whiskers, saying in loud tones: "Mademoiselle Yvette, I am your most devoted slave."
"Thank you, and Chevalier Valreali is no better?" "You have hit it." "And Monsieur de Belvigne?" "With him it is a different thing. He is of provincial society, honorable up to a certain point, but only a little scorched from having lived too rapidly." "And you?"
You will see among them a Frenchman, Monsieur de Belvigne; a Russian, called Prince Kravalow, and an Italian, Chevalier Valreali, who have all announced their candidacies and who are consequently maneuvering to the best of their ability. In addition to these there are several freebooters of less importance. The Marquise waits and watches. But I think that she has views about me.
And she would murmur to his face: "My dear little Pierre," or "My divine Pedro, darling Pierrot, give your bow-wow's head to your dear little girl, who wants to kiss it." "Scratch out number two. There still remains the Chevalier Valreali whom the Marquise seems to favor," continued Servigny. Yvette regained all her gaiety: "'Teardrop'? Why he weeps like a Magdalene.
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