we were joined by two or three good-looking, well-dressed young women.  My friend talked to them in French and bought drinks for the whole party.  I tried to recall my high-school French, but the effort availed me little.  I could stammer out a few phrases, but, very naturally, could not understand a word that was said to me.  We stayed at the cafe a couple of hours, then went back to the hotel.  The next day we spent several hours in the shops and at the tailor’s.  I had no clothes except what I had been able to gather together at my benefactor’s apartments the night before we sailed.  He bought me the same kind of clothes which he himself wore, and that was the best; and he treated me in every way as he dressed me, as an equal, not as a servant.  In fact, I don’t think anyone could have guessed that such a relation existed.  My duties were light and few, and he was a man full of life and vigor, who rather enjoyed doing things for himself.  He kept me supplied with money far beyond what ordinary wages would have amounted to.  For the first two weeks we were together almost constantly, seeing the sights, sights old to him, but from which he seemed to get new pleasure in showing them to me.  During the day we took in the places of interest, and at night the theatres and cafes.  This sort of life appealed to me as ideal, and I asked him one day how long he intended to stay in Paris.  He answered:  “Oh, until I get tired of it.”  I could not understand how that could ever happen.  As it was, including several short trips to the Mediterranean, to Spain, to Brussels, and to Ostend, we did remain there fourteen or fifteen months.  We stayed at the Hotel Continental about two months of this time.  Then my millionaire took apartments, hired a piano, and lived almost the same life he lived in New York.  He entertained a great deal, some of the parties being a good deal more blase than the New York ones.  I played for the guests at all of them with an effect which to relate would be but a tiresome repetition to the reader.  I played not only for the guests, but continued, as I used to do in New York, to play often for the host when he was alone.  This man of the world, who grew weary of everything and was always searching for something new, appeared never to grow tired of my music; he seemed to take it as a drug.  He fell into a habit which caused me no little annoyance; sometimes he would come in during the early hours of the morning and, finding me in bed asleep, would wake me up and ask me to play something.  This, so far as I can remember, was my only hardship during my whole stay with him in Europe.