THE AMERICAN
before the fire, caressing one of his fair whiskers with one of his white hands and looking at our friend, half-askance, with eyes from which a particular ray of observation made its way through a general meaningless smile. "It's very kind of you to make such an offer. If I'm not mistaken your occupations are such as to make your time precious. You're in a—as we say—a—dans les affaires?"
"In business, you mean? Oh no, I 've thrown business overboard for the present. I'm regularly loafing, as we say. My time's quite my own."
"Ah, you're taking a holiday," rejoined M. de Bellegarde. "'Loafing.' Yes, I've heard that expression."
"Mr. Newman's a distinguished American," Madame de Bellegarde observed.
"My brother's a great ethnologist," said Valentin.
"An ethnologist?—and Newman groped for gaiety. "You collect negroes' skulls and that sort of thing?"
The Marquis looked hard at his brother and began to caress his other whisker. Then turning to their new acquaintance with sustained urbanity: "You're travelling for pure recreation?"
"Well, I'm visiting your country, sir," Newman replied with a certain conscious patience—a patience he felt he on his side too could push, should need be, to stiffness; "and I confess I'm having a good time in it. Of course I get a good deal of pleasure out of it."
"What more especially interests you?" the Marquis benevolently pursued.
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