He said. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. He encouraged her to join him in his debauchery. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it.
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