ing forth to me grew indignant at my lack of attention,
broke off abruptly, and went away. I turned to the man
with the different voice and asked, "What in the world
makes you come to France for hats, just now in the midst
of the war?"

He answered with instant decision, "Because the
only hats worth buying are made in Paris."

"Now? with France bleeding to death, how can they
make hats, invent new fashions!"

His eye kindled. "Madame, a good French modiste
on her deathbed could make a better hat than any one
in New York ever could."

I pondered this. His accent was indubitably Ameri-
can, not to say New York. But there are cases of
French people who have spent part of their childhood in
the States who speak perfectly. "You must be at least
partly of French extraction to be able so to understand
and admire France," I ventured.

He opposed a rather startled and very emphatic nega-
tive. "Me? Not much! I'm as American as they
make 'em. Born on lower Broadway and brought up in
the New York public schools. I don't know anything
about France, except that we have to come here to get
the right styles in hats. I don't even speak any French
except to say 'combien' and enough to count."

I was put off the scent entirely. "Oh, I thought from
the way you spoke that you knew France well. This is
your first visit, then?"

He was silent a moment, making a mental calculation.

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