the American, for vague
reasons, had always associated with all elderly foreigners of the
lesson-giving class. Newman had never reflected upon philological
processes. His chief impression with regard to ascertaining those
mysterious correlatives of his familiar English vocables which were
current in this extraordinary city of Paris was, that it was simply a
matter of a good deal of unwonted and rather ridiculous muscular effort
on his own part. "How did you learn English?" he asked of the old man.

"When I was young, before my miseries. Oh, I was wide awake, then.
My father was a great commercant; he placed me for a year in a
counting-house in England. Some of it stuck to me; but I have
forgotten!"

"How much French can I learn in a month?"

"What does he say?" asked Mademoiselle Noemie.

M. Nioche explained.

"He will speak like an angel!" said his daughter.

But the native integrity which had been vainly exerted to secure M.
Nioche's commercial prosperity flickered up again. "Dame, monsieur!" he
answered. "All I can teach you!" And then, recovering himself at a sign
from his daughter, "I will wait upon you at your hotel."

"Oh yes, I should like to learn French," Newman went on, with democratic
confidingness. "Hang me if I should ever have thought of it! I took for
granted it was impossible. But if you learned my language, why shouldn't
I learn yours?" and his frank, friendly laugh drew the sting from the
jest. "Only, if we are going to converse, you know, you must think of
something cheerful to converse about."

"You are very good, sir; I am overcome!" said M. Nioche, throwing out
his hands. "But you have cheerfulness and happiness for two!"

"Oh no," said Newman more seriously. "You must be bright and lively;
that's part of the bargain."

M. Nioche bowed, with his hand on his heart. "Very well, sir; you have
already made me lively."

"Come and bring me my picture then; I will pay you for it, and we will
talk about that. That will be a cheerful subject!"

Mademoiselle Noemie had collected her accessories, and she gave the
precious Madonna in charge to her father, who retreated backwards out
of sight, holding it at arm's-length and reiterating his obeisance. The
young lady gathered her shawl about her like a perfect Parisienne, and
it was with the smile of a Parisienne that she took leave of her patron.

CHAPTER II

He wandered back to the divan and seated himself on the other side,
in view of