the forest." He bent over me, pretending to be busy with the coffee-
machine, and lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. "When they
returned, this book fell from the pocket of that other monsieur's coat
as he ascended the stair, and he did not notice. Later I shall return it
by Glouglou, but I thought it wise that monsieur should see it for
himself."

The book was Wentworth's Algebra--elementary principles. Painful
recollections of my boyhood and the binomial theorem rose in my mind as
I let the leaves turn under my fingers. "What do you make of it?" I
asked.

His tone became even more confidential. "Part of it, monsieur, is in
English; that is plain. I have found an English word in it that I know--
the word 'O.' But much of the printing is also in Arabic."

"Arabic!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, monsieur, look there." He laid a fat forefinger on "(a + b)2 = a2
+ 2ab + b2." "That is Arabic. Old Gaston has been to Algeria, and he
says that he knows Arabic as well as he does French. He looked at the
book and told me it was Arabic. Truly! Truly!"

"Did he translate any of it for you?"

"No, monsieur; his eyes pained him this afternoon. He says he will read
it to-morrow."

"But you must return the book to-night."