THE AMERICAN
who in the last twenty minutes had built up between them a wall of polite conversation in which she evidently flattered herself he would never find a gate? Had it come to this—that he was asking favours of false gods and appealing for sympathy where he had no sympathy to give? He rested his arms on his knees and sat for some minutes staring into his hat. As he did so his ears tingled—was he to have brayed like that animal whose ears are longest? Whether or no the Duchess would hear his story he would n't tell it. Was he to sit there another half-hour for the sake of exposing the Bellegardes? The Bellegardes be deeply damned! He got up abruptly and advanced to shake hands with his hostess.
"You can't stay longer?" she graciously asked.
"If you 'll pardon me, no."
She hesitated, and then, "I had an idea you had something particular to say to me," she returned.
Newman met her eyes; he felt a little dizzy, for the moment he was conscious of the high—or at least the higher—air in which he performed gymnastic revolutions. The little Italian prince came to his help. "Ah, madame, who has not that?" he richly sighed.
"Don't teach Mr. Newman to say fadaises," said the Duchess. "It's his merit that he doesn't know how."
"Yes, I don't know how to say fadaises," Newman admitted, "and I don't want to say anything unpleasant."
"I'm sure you're very considerate," Madame d'Outreville smiled; and she gave him a little nod for all good-bye, with which he took his departure.
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