THE AMERICAN
"I suppose it would help me a great deal, knocking about Paris, to be able to try at least to talk."
"Ah, there are so many things monsieur must want to say: remarkable things, and proportionately difficult."
"Everything I want to say is proportionately difficult. But you're in the habit of giving lessons?"
Poor M. Nioche was embarrassed; he smiled more appealingly. "I'm not a regular professor," he admitted. "I can't pourtant tell him I've a diploma," he said to his daughter.
"Tell him it's a very exceptional chance," answered mademoiselle; an homme du monde—one perfect gentleman conversing with another. Remember what you are. Remember what you have been."
"A teacher of languages in neither case! Much more dans le temps and much less to-day! And if he asks the price of the lessons?"
"He won't ask it," said the girl.
"What he pleases, I may say?"
"Never! That's bad style."
"But if he wants to know?"
Mademoiselle Noémie had put on her bonnet and was tying the ribbons. She smoothed them out, her shell-like little chin thrust forward. "Ten francs," she said quickly.
"Oh my daughter! I shall never dare."
"Don't dare then! He won't ask till the end of the lessons, and you 'll let me make out the bill."
M. Nioche turned to the confiding foreigner again and stood rubbing his hands with his air of standing convicted of almost any counsel of despair. It never
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