we Irish have of putting our fingers into other people's pies! Some call
it intrusion"--he glanced quizzically at the boy--"but these good
creatures understand it. They're more human than the Saxon or the--"
Again a glint of humor crossed his face, as he paused on his unfinished
sentence.

The boy reddened and impulsively leaned across the table.

"You have taught me something, monsieur," he said, shyly, "and I have
much to learn."

The other returned the glance seriously, intently. "What is it I have
taught you?"

"That in the smaller ways of life it is not possible to stand quite
alone."

The Irishman laid down his cigarette. With native quickness of
comprehension, the spirit of banter dropped from him, his mood merged
into the boy's mood.

"No," he said, "we are not meant to stand quite alone, and when two of
us are flung up against each other as we have been flung, by a wave of
circumstance, you may take it that the gods control the currents. In our
case I would say, 'Let's bow to the inevitable! Let's be friends!'" He
put out his hand and took the boy's strong, slim fingers in his grasp.

"I don't want your secret," he added, with a quickening interest, "but I
want to know one thing. Tell me what you are seeking here in Paris? Is
it pleasure, or money, or what?"