THE AMERICAN
"Monsieur's constant; I understand perfectly. It's not the case of all the world. To recompense you, you shall have your picture on the first possible day; next week—as soon as it's dry. I'll take the card of monsieur." And she took it and read his name: "Christopher Newman." Then she tried to repeat it aloud and laughed at her bad accent. "Your English names are not commodes to say!"
"Well, mine's partly celebrated," said Mr. Newman, laughing too. "Did you never hear of Christopher Columbus?"
"Bien sûr! He first showed Americans the way to Europe; a very great man. And is he your patron?"
"My patron?"
"Your patron saint, such as we all have."
"Oh, exactly; my parents named me after him."
"Monsieur is American then too?"
"Does n't it stick right out?" monsieur enquired.
"And you mean to carry my dear little picture away over there?" She explained her phrase with a gesture.
"Oh, I mean to buy a great many pictures—beaucoup, beaucoup" said Christopher Newman.
"The honour's not less for me," the young lady answered, "for I'm sure monsieur has a great deal of taste."
"But you must give me your card," Newman went on; "your card, you know."
The young lady looked severe an instant. "My father will wait on you."
But this time Mr. Newman's powers of divination were at fault. "Your card, your address," he simply repeated.
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