tue_, the Irishman
chose the table nearest to the counter, and presently a woman appeared
from some inner region, and, approaching her customers, eyed them with
that mixture of shrewd observation and polite welcome that belongs to
the Frenchwoman who follows the ways of commerce.

"Good-day, messieurs!" She inclined her head to one side like a plump
and speculative bird, and her hands began mechanically to smooth her
black alpaca apron.

"Good-day, madame!" The Irishman rose and took off his hat with a
flourish that was essentially flattering.

The bright little eyes of the _Parisienne_ sparkled, and her round face
relaxed into the inevitable smile.

'What could she have the pleasure of offering monsieur? It was late, but
she had an excellent _ragout_, now a little cold, perhaps, but capable
in an instant--'

The stranger put up his hand. "Madame, we could not think of giving you
the trouble--"

"Monsieur, a pleasure--"

"No, madame, it is past the hour of _dejeuner_. All we need is your
charming hospitality and two cups of coffee."

'Coffee! But certainly! While monsieur was saying the word it would be
made and served.'

Madame hurried off, and in silence the Irishman took out his
cigarette-case and offered it to the boy. Bare and even cold as the
_cafe_ was, there was a certain sense of shelter in the closed glass
door, in the blue film of cigarette smoke that presently began to mount
upward toward the ceiling, and in the pleasant smell of coffee borne to
them from unseen regions mingling with the shrill, cheerful tones of
their hostess's voice.

"A wonderful place, Paris, when all's said and done!" murmured the
Irishman, drawing in a long, luxurious breath of smoke. "How an English
restaurant-keeper would stare you out of countenance if you demanded a
modest cup of coffee when he had luncheon for you to eat! But here,
bless you, they acknowledge the rights of man. If you want coffee,
coffee you must have--and that with the best grace in the world, lest
your self-esteem be hurt! They're like my people at home: consideration
for the individual is the first thing. It means nothing, a Saxon will
tell you, and probably he's quite right; but I'd sooner have a
pleasant-spoken sinner any day than a disagreeable saint. Ah, here comes
madame!" The last words he added in French, and the boy watched him in
amused wonder as he jumped to his feet and, meeting their hostess at the
kitchen door, insisted upon taking th