THE AMERICAN
"It pleases monsieur, my little picture? It's a very beautiful subject," said the young lady.
"The Madonna, yes; I'm not a real Catholic, but I want to buy it. Combien? Figure it right there." And he took a pencil from his pocket and showed her the fly-leaf of his guide-book. She stood looking at him and scratching her chin with the pencil. "Is n't it for sale?" he asked. And as she still stood reflecting, probing him with eyes which, in spite of her desire to treat this avidity of patronage as a very old story, added to her flush of incredulity, he was afraid he had offended her. She was simply trying to look indifferent, wondering how far she might go. "I have n't made a mistake—pas insulté, no?" her interlocutor continued. "Don't you understand a little English?"
The young lady's aptitude for playing a part at short notice was remarkable. She fixed him with all her conscious perception and asked him if he spoke no French. Then "Donnez!" she said briefly, and took the open guide-book. In the upper corner of the fly-leaf she traced a number in a minute and extremely neat hand. On which she handed back the book and resumed her palette.
Our friend read the number: "2000 francs." He said nothing for a time, but stood looking at the picture while the copyist began actively to dabble with her paint. "For a copy, is n't that a good deal?" he inquired at last. "Pas beaucoup?"
She raised her eyes from her palette, scanned him from head to foot, and alighted with admirable sagacity upon exactly the right answer. "Yes, it's a good
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