"Gee! That was a tumble! Not hurt, are you?" exclaimed a man's voice in
English.

Paula looked up in amazement. She had heard no footsteps and had no idea
that anyone was near. Standing looking down at her, his face trying to
suppress a grin, was a young man of about twenty-five. He was rather
loudly dressed in a check lounging suit and red tie, and as much by his
manner as by his clean-shaven face and clothes she took him for a fellow
countryman. "Just like an American's bad breeding to laugh at a woman's
misfortune," was her inward indignant comment.

Lifting his hat, he extended his hand to assist her to rise.

"Lucky I happened along, eh?" he grinned.

Paula carefully stretched out her arms to make sure that no bones were
broken.

"You didn't prevent my fall," she said ruefully.

"No," he laughed, "but it's given me an excuse to make the acquaintance
of a pretty girl."

She tried to look displeased and dignified, but the stranger's impudence
and breezy familiarity amused her. He was a clean-cut, rather
good-looking boy, and his laugh was not only contagious but positively
refreshing after Mr. Ricaby's depressing conversation and funereal
countenance.

"How did you know that I understood English?" she inquired.

Pointing to a copy of _Galignani's Messenger_ in which her palette and
brushes had been wrapped, he said with a chuckle:

"I saw that--jumped at conclusions--that's all. I'd make good as a
Sherlock Holmes, eh, what? Besides, don't you suppose I can spot an
American girl when I see one?"

"I'm only half American," she answered, surprised to find herself
conversing so glibly with a perfect stranger. "My mother was French. My
father was an American."

Noticing that she spoke in the past tense and remarking her mourning
dress, he surmised that her parents were dead. She interested him, and
it was more sympathy than idle curiosity that prompted the query:

"Where do you live--New York?"

She shook her head.

"No, I live here, or, rather, have done so until quite recently. I'm
going to America next Saturday--to live there for good."

"Next Saturday!" he cried, in surprise. "Say, that's odd! I'm going on
the _Touraine_ myself!"

"The _Touraine_--yes--I think that's the name of the boat." Almost
apologetically she added: "You see I haven't travelled very much."
Looking at him more closely, she inquired:

"You are an American?"

He grinned, showing fine white teeth.

"I try to be. Greatest c