beautiful tongue which, as the old man endeavoured to impress upon them, was pre-eminently the language of conversation. “They have a tournure de princesse—a distinction suprême,” he said to me. “One’s surprised to find them in a little pension bourgeoise at seven francs a day.” “Oh they don’t come for economy. They must be rich.” “They don’t come for my beaux yeux—for mine,” said M. Pigeonneau sadly. “Perhaps it’s for yours, young man. Je vous recommande la maman!” I considered the case. “They came on account of Mr. Ruck because at hotels he’s so restless.” M. Pigeonneau gave me a knowing nod. “Of course he is, with such a wife as that!—a femme superbe. She’s preserved in perfection—a miraculous fraîcheur. I like those large, fair, quiet women; they’re often, dans l’intimité, the most agreeable. I’ll warrant you that at heart Madame Roque is a finished coquette.” And then as I demurred: “You suppose her cold? Ne vous y fiez pas!” “It’s a matter in which I’ve nothing at stake.” “You young Americans are droll,” said M. Pigeonneau; “you never have anything at stake! But the little one, for example; I’ll warrant you she’s not cold. Toute menue as she is she’s admirably made.” “She’s very pretty.” “‘She’s very pretty’! Vous dites cela d’un ton! When you pay compliments to Mees Roque I hope that’s not the way you do it.” “I don’t pay compliments to Miss Ruck.” “Ah, decidedly,” said M. Pigeonneau, “you young Americans are droll!” I should have suspected that these two ladies wouldn’t especially commend themselves to Madame Beaurepas; that as a maîtresse de salon, which she in some degree aspired to be, she would have found them wanting in a certain colloquial ease. But I should have gone quite wrong: Madame Beaurepas had no fault at all to find with her new pensionnaires. “I’ve no observation whatever to make about them,” she said to me one evening. “I see nothing in those ladies at all déplacé. They don’t complain of anything; they don’t meddle; they take what’s given them; they leave me tranquil. The Americans are often like that. Often, but not always,” Madame Beaurepas pursued. “We’re to have a specimen to-morrow of a very different sort.” “An American?” I was duly interested.