welcome, doctor. How are you, my friend?"

A smile to those around, a hearty shake of his host's hand, and Jenkins
sat down opposite him, next to Monpavon, before a place at the table
which a servant had just prepared in all haste and without having
received any order, exactly as at a _table d'hote_. Among those
preoccupied and feverish faces, this one at any rate stood out in
contrast by its good humour, its cheerfulness, and that loquacious and
flattering benevolence which makes the Irish in a way the Gascons of
England. And what a splendid appetite! With what heartiness, what ease
of conscience he used his white teeth as he talked!

"Well, Jansoulet, you have read it?"

"What?"

"How, then! you do not know? You have not read what the _Messenger_ says
about you this morning?"

Beneath the dark tan of his cheeks the Nabob blushed like a child, and,
his eyes shining with pleasure:

"Is it possible--the _Messenger_ has spoken of me?"

"Through two columns. How is it that Moessard has not shown it to you?"

"Oh," put in Moessard modestly, "it was not worth the trouble."

He was a little journalist, with a fair complexion and smart in his
dress, sufficiently good-looking, but with a face which presented