y that," the young man said, a little sharply.

"No, no; I only thought you meant it. We are not bound, you know, to
keep rattling up the Rule Britannia always among ourselves."

"I can assure you I am not at all inclined to rattle the Rule Britannia
too loudly," the young man said, tossing the end of his cigar away and
looking determinedly into the street with his hands dug deeply into his
pockets.

The elder man smoked for a few seconds in silence, and looked up and
down the long straight line of street.

"Odd," he said abruptly. "I always think of Balzac when I look into the
streets of Paris, and when I give myself time to think. Balzac sums up
Paris to me."

"Yes," said the younger man, talking for the first time with an
appearance of genuine interest in the conversation; "but things must be
greatly changed since that time even in Paris, you know."

"Changed? Not a bit of it. The outsides of course. The Louvre was half a
ruin the other day, and now it's getting all right again. That's change,
if you like to call it so. But the heart of things is just the same.
Balzac stands for Paris, believe you me."

"I don't believe a word of it--not a word! I mean--excuse me--that I
don't agree with you."

"Yes, yes: I understand what you mean. I'm not offended. Well?"

"Well--I don't believe a bit that men and women ever were like that. You
mean to tell me that people were made without hearts in Paris or
anywhere else? Do you believe in a place peopled by cads and sneaks and
curs--and the women half again as bad as the men?"

The young man grew warm, and the elder drew him out, and they discussed
Balzac as they stood in the balcony and looked down on silent
moonlighted Paris. The elder man smoked and smiled and shrugged his
shoulders good-humoredly. The younger was as full of gesture and
animation as if his life depended on the controversy.

"All right," the elder said at last. "I like to hear you talk, but Paris
is Balzac to me still. Going to be in London some time?"

"I suppose so: yes," in a tone of sudden depression and discontent.

"I wish we might meet. I live in London, and I wish you would come and
see me when we get back from our--holiday we'll call it."

The young man turned half away and leaned on the balcony as if he were
looking very earnestly for something in the direction of the Champs
Elysees. Then he faced his companion suddenly and said,

"I think you had much better not have anything to do w