The boy shook his head, and there was a tremor of nervousness about his mouth.

“They saw something dangerous—­something to be avoided.  Yet Mac is a millionaire several times over, and Billy is distinctly a diplomatist with a future.”

The boy forced a smile; he was beginning to shrink from the pleasant scrutiny, to wish that the vaporous fog of last night might dim the searching light of the morning.

“What did they see?” he asked.

The Irishman looked at him humorously.  “I hardly like to tell it to you,” he said, “but they marked you for an anarchist.  An anarchist, for all the world!  As if any anarchist alive would travel first-class in third-class clothes!  You see, I’m blunt.”

The boy, studying him, half in fear, half in doubt, laughed suddenly in quick relief and amusement.

“An anarchist!  How droll!”

“Wasn’t it?  I told them so.  I also told them—­”

“What?”

“My own beliefs.”

“And your beliefs?”

“No!  No!  You won’t draw me!  But I’ll tell you this much, for I’ve told it before.  I knew you were no common creature of intrigue; I accepted you as mystery personified.”

“And now you would solve me?” In his returning confidence the boy’s eyes danced.

“God forbid!” The vehemence of the reply was comic, and the Irishman himself laughed as the words escaped him.  “Oh no!” he added, soberly.  “Keep your mask!  I don’t want to tear it from you.  Later on, perhaps, I’ll take a peep behind; but I can accept mysteries and miracles—­I was born into the Roman Catholic Church.”

“And I into the Greek.”

“Ah!  My first peep!”

“And what do you see?”

“Do you know, I see a queer thing.  I see a boy who has thought.  You have thought.  Don’t deny it!”

“On religion?”

“On religion—­and other things; you acknowledge it in one look.”

The boy laughed, like a child who has been caught at some forbidden game.

“Perhaps it was your imagination.”

“Perhaps!  But, look here, we can’t stand all day discoursing in the Cours la Reine!  Where shall we wander—­left or right?” He nodded first in the direction of the river, then toward the large building that faced them on the right, from the roof of which an array of small flags fluttered an invitation.

The boy’s eyes followed his movement.  “Pictures!” he exclaimed.  “I didn’t know there was an exhibition open.”

“Live and learn!  Come along!”

Together they stepped into the roadway, where the frosty surface was scarred by the soldiers’ feet, and together they reached the doorway of the large building and read the legend, “Soctiete Peintres et Sculpteurs Francais.”

The Irishman read the words with the faintly humorous, faintly sceptical glance that he seemed to bestow upon the world at large.

“Remember I’m throwing out no bait, but I expect ’twill be value for a couple of francs.”