THE AMERICAN
remarked, "but this is the first time in my life I've been in Paris for more than three or four weeks."
"And how long have you been here now?" she enquired with a certain detachment.
"Oh, for the last two months." The young man—he was still a young man—showed no hesitation. His artless observations might have constituted an impertinence; but a glance at his face would have satisfied you, as it apparently satisfied Madame de Cintré, that nothing about him could well be explained save in the light of his simplicity. When their group was seated Newman, who was out of the conversation, reflected, observing him, that unless he had the benefit of that he had n't the benefit of very much. His other advantages—beyond his three or four and thirty years—were a scant stature and an odd figure, a bald head, a short nose, round clear blue eyes and a frank and natural smile, which made the loss of a couple of front teeth by some rude misadventure constantly conspicuous. Perceptibly embarrassed, by more than one sign, he laughed as if he were bold and free, catching his breath with a loud startling sound. He admitted that Paris was charming, but pleaded that he was a wild, bog-trotting Paddy who preferred his Dublin even to his London and who would never be caught where they had caught him save for his taste for light music. He came over for the new Offenbach things, since, though they always brought them out in Dublin, it was perhaps with a whiff too much of the brogue. He had been nine times to hear "La Pomme de Paris." Had Madame de Cintré ever been to Dublin? They must
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