THE AMERICAN
"Well, give me a specimen."
"You live here all alone?"
"Absolutely. With whom should I live?"
"For the moment," smiled M. de Bellegarde, "I'm asking questions, not answering them. You've come over to Paris for your pleasure?"
Newman had a pause. "Every one asks me that!" he said with his almost pathetic plainness. "It sounds quite foolish—as if I were to get my pleasure somehow under a writ of extradition."
"But at any rate you've a reason for being here."
"Oh, call it for my pleasure!" said Newman. "Though it represents me as trying to reclaim a hopeless absentee it describes well enough the logic of my conduct."
"And you're enjoying what you find?"
"Well, I'm keeping my head."
Count Valentin puffed his cigar again in silence. "For myself," he resumed at last, "I'm entirely at your service. Anything I can do for you will make me very happy. Call on me at your convenience. Is there any one you wish to know—anything you wish to see? It's a pity you should n't fully avail yourself of Paris."
"Well, I guess I avail myself," said Newman serenely. "I'm much obliged to you."
"Honestly speaking," his visitor went on, "there's something absurd to me in hearing myself make you these offers. They represent a great deal of good-will, but they represent little else. You're a successful man, and I am a râté—by which we
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