“Hum!” said Wynne despondently, “of all men you are the most cheerless.” “But indeed no. If my mind was melancholy it was but to suit an occasion of some sadness. Let us, if you will, speak of lighter affairs.” But since that line of conversation inevitably led to descriptions of _jeunes filles_ who at one time or another had confided their affections over-deeply to Benoit’s keeping, Wynne declined the invitation, and, picking up his cap, descended the stairs and walked towards the Louvre. The discussion had done little to brighten his horizon, and he was oppressed with misgivings as he passed through the streets. Obviously it was absurd to attach importance to the words of an ignorant _valet de chambre_. On the other hand, there was a degree of probability in what he had said which could not be lightly dismissed. Suddenly an idea possessed him, and his spirits rose with a leap. It occurred from the memory of a remark made by the patron of a _brasserie_ in the Boule Miche. “Ah, monsieur,” he had said, “it is long since we entertained a customer who spoke with such inspiration on so many subjects.” The remark had been made after a long sitting in which Wynne had held the attention of a dozen students for several hours while he threw off his red-hot views on art and life in general. As a result the little absorbent mats, upon which the glasses stand, and which mark the number of drinks each man has taken, had piled high. “I measure the value of conversation,” the patron had continued, “by the amount of bock which is consumed, and tonight has surpassed all previous records. I trust m’sieur will return many times, and place me even more deeply in his debt.” “By Heaven,” thought Wynne, “I believe he’d pay me a salary to talk.” So greatly did the belief take hold of him that, unthinkingly, he sprang upon a tram, only to spring off again with the recollection that he had not the wherewithal to pay the fare. M. le Patron greeted Wynne with amiable courtesy, and invited him to be seated, asking at the same time what manner of drink would be agreeable to his taste. “I want nothing,” said Wynne, “but the privilege of a few moments’ conversation.” “That will be delightful; then we will sit together.” “I do not know if you remember an evening a short while ago when I was here.” “It is, indeed, one of my pleasantest recollections.” “On that occasion you were good enough to observe that my conversation resulted in a marked increase in your sales of liquor.” “And indeed, m’sieur, it was no less than the truth. The nimbleness of m’sieur’s wit, the charm of his address, and the adroitness of his argument are only comparable to those of that most admirable Bohemian, Monsieur Robinson, who, I have no doubt, is well known in England.” “Probably,” said Wynne, “although I have never heard of him. But to return. I have come here today to make you a business proposition.” “It is very kind.”