matist who was the
_doyen_ of the party. The men followed as it pleased them. Ralston and
Paul went last.

'I am a prophet,' said Ralston, subduing that richly hoarse voice of
his. 'I told you you would do, and you have done.'

CHAPTER XXII

The evening was memorable to Paul for many reasons. There was not a
great deal of the talk to carry away with one; but if it had not the
solid brilliance of the diamond, it had the cheaper glitter of the
sharded glass epigram which sparkles and cuts--an admirable substitute
on most occasions, though it has the disadvantage of leaving dangerous
fragments for people to tread upon. The conversation was carried on
exclusively in French, and, though Paul's ears were quick enough to keep
abreast of it, his tongue was not, and he was a silent listener for
the most part Ralston, having pathetically bidden farewell to ease and
English, seemed as much at home as any person at table; but he told
Paul, as they walked home together, that he hated to speak a foreign
language.

'Give me the old familiar tool that one has handled since babyhood. See
how it adjusts itself to the hand! how one can carve with it! with how
much comfort and dexterity! English, besides that, is the only language
in the world. The things that are not to be said in English are not
worth thinking--if they are speakable at all; and some things are not.
Look up yonder!' They were in the Place Vendome. His upward gesture sent
Paul's eyes to the sky, which was sown thick with stars. 'Do you care
for a talk across a whisky-and-soda and a cigar?' asked Ralston. 'I am
here in the Rue Castiglione. Come to my room. I have the right nectar. I
bring it with me when I come to Paris, and let them charge for corkage.'

When the guests had scattered, Paul had looked for one more private word
with Gertrude; but she had left him no excuse to linger. She had said
her 'Good-bye, Paul,' with an almost icy sweetness. He wanted to get
away into solitude to think about her, and was half inclined to excuse
himself from Ralston.

'Dear little, queer little body, our hostess, eh? Have you known her
long?'

'Not very long,' Paul answered 'But she and you seemed to have quite
ancient memories.'

If Ralston would talk about Gertrude, he would be glad to sit with him
till morning light.

'Oh, I?' said Ralston--'I have known her from her childhood. If she
makes any secret of her affairs, I mustn't babble, though. Do you know
the Baron?