o clear his throat, the sight, of old Darco touched
his heart so.

'Gome along, then,' said Darco, and rolled off sturdily like a barrel on
barrels in the direction of the Boulevards. 'Rue Gasdilione,' he said,
playing guide as he walked along. 'Blace Fendome. Golumn Fendome. Rue de
la Baix. You haf not been in Baris until now?

'I got here this morning,' Paul answered.

'I am here four tays,' said Darco. 'I shall be here four tays longer. I
am puying a gomedy, ant a blay in five agds.'

'Buying?' said Paul 'I thought the one recognised custom was to steal'

'That's a vool's game,' Darco declared. 'If you sdeal, and if what you
sdeal is worth sdealing, anypoty can sdeal from you. If you burchase it,
it is yours, and nopoty can take it away. Honesty is the best policy.
And, pesides that, I am Cheorge Dargo. I know my way apout.'

Paul could have hugged him for sheer joy at hearing the familiar brag
again: 'I am Cheorge Dargo.' The old countersign was like music.

'Where are we going?' asked Paul.

'Ve are koink,' said Darco, 'to the Hareng d'Or, where they haf a dry
champagne, and where they can give you such a preakfast as you cannot
get in the world. Ant I shall have a Cloria with a zeventy-year-old
Gogniag in it. Ant the Blat de chour is a Navarin de mouton. I saw that
as I passed the house two hours aco. I shall haf two boitions, mind
you.'

'Twenty!' cried Paul.

'No,' said Darco. 'I could not ead twenty.'

They reached the restaurant, one of those jolly little houses which
are all down now--short as is the time since that in which they
flourished--where the host knew almost all his guests, and luxury went
hand in hand with a sort of camaraderie which cannot breathe in our new
palaces. The chef was a treasure, but as yet no American millionaires
strove to coax him across the Atlantic. There were no better wines in
the world, there was no better coffee, and, by way of a wonder, there
were no better cigars. Darco shook hands with the host, and broke out
at him in a brash of Alsatian French, which to Paul's ears was like a
rolling of drums. He caught his own name in the torrent of noise, and
distinguished the words 'un homme lideraire, cheune, gomme fous foyez,
mais deja pien tisdangue.' The host bowed, and Paul bowed, and blushed
a little, and Darco ordered a dejeuner at the host's discretion,
stipulating only for his own double portion of the Navarin de mouton. So
there came oysters, with a cobwebbed bot