And I bowed to Mademoiselle, who had started at the sound of my voice,
and was staring at me with a tear-stained face.

"I have decided to stay," I cried, "If Mademoiselle will permit me."

But she did not answer, and my father regarded us carefully, as though
balancing possibilities.

"Not leaving!" Whether my statement was surprising or otherwise was
impossible to discern. He raised his eyebrows in interrogation, and I
smiled at him in a manner I hoped resembled his.

"I fear you may tire of my company," I went on, "because I am going to
stay until you have disposed of this paper as Mademoiselle desires. Or if
you are unwilling to do so, I shall take pleasure in doing it myself."

My father rubbed his hands, and then tapped me playfully on the shoulder.

"Somehow I thought this little scene would fetch you," he cried.
"Excellent, my son! I hoped you might stay on."

"And now, sir," I said, "the paper, if you please."

"What!" exclaimed my father, with a gesture of astonishment. "You too
want the paper! How popular it is becoming, to be sure!"

"At least I am going to try to get it," I began gravely, when a sudden
change in his expression stopped me.

"Wait," he said coldly. "Look before you leap, my son. Allow me to make