"Monsieur is American?"

"Don't you see it?" monsieur inquired.

"And you mean to carry my little picture away over there?" and she
explained her phrase with a gesture.

"Oh, I mean to buy a great many pictures--beaucoup, beaucoup," said
Christopher Newman.

"The honor is not less for me," the young lady answered, "for I am sure
monsieur has a great deal of taste."

"But you must give me your card," Newman said; "your card, you know."

The young lady looked severe for an instant, and then said, "My father
will wait upon you."

But this time Mr. Newman's powers of divination were at fault. "Your
card, your address," he simply repeated.

"My address?" said mademoiselle. Then with a little shrug, "Happily for
you, you are an American! It is the first time I ever gave my card to a
gentleman." And, taking from her pocket a rather greasy porte-monnaie,
she extracted from it a small glazed visiting card, and presented the
latter to her patron. It was neatly inscribed in pencil, with a great
many flourishes, "Mlle. Noemie Nioche." But Mr. Newman, unlike his
companion, read the name with perfect gravity; all French names to him
were equally droll.