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Rh I thought it very possible, and remembered that I had always heard that Paris is the city of gallantry.

Sanguinetti came in, blushing a good deal, and saying that he was extremely sorry to have kept me waiting.

"Oh," I answered, "I understand it very well. I have been watching you from my window for the last quarter of an hour."

He smiled a little, blushing still. "Though I have lived in Paris for fifteen years," he said, "you know I always look at the shops. One never knows what one may pick up."

"You have a taste," I said, "for picking up pretty faces. That is certainly a very pretty one at the hairdresser's."

Poor Sanguinetti was really very modest: my "chaff" discomposed him, and he began to fidget and protest.

"Oh!" I went on, "your choice does great honor to your taste. She's a very lovely creature: I admire her myself."

He looked at me a moment with his soup-spoon poised. He was always a little afraid of me: he was sure I thought him a very flimsy fellow, with his passion for cracked teacups and scraps of old brocade. But now he seemed a trifle reassured: he would talk a little if he dared. "You know there