facon'--he spread wide his hands--`might I, as the phrase is, "cut
in"?'

I could but signify our acquiescence. Berthe had appeared at the
kitchen door, thinking the stranger wanted his bill. He waved
her away with his cigar, and in another moment had seated
himself beside me, commanding a full view of Soames.

`Though not an Englishman,' he explained, `I know my London
well, Mr. Soames. Your name and fame--Mr. Beerbohm's too--
very known to me. Your point is: who am _I_?' He glanced
quickly over his shoulder, and in a lowered voice said `I am the
Devil.'

I couldn't help it: I laughed. I tried not to, I knew there was
nothing to laugh at, my rudeness shamed me, but--I laughed
with increasing volume. The Devil's quiet dignity, the surprise
and disgust of his raised eyebrows, did but the more dissolve
me. I rocked to and fro, I lay back aching. I behaved
deplorably.

`I am a gentleman, and,' he said with intense emphasis, `I
thought I was in the company of GENTLEMEN.'

`Don't!' I gasped faintly. `Oh, don't!'

`Curious, nicht wahr?' I heard him say to Soames. `There is a
type of person to whom the very mention of my name is--oh-so-
awfully-funny! In your theatres the dullest comedien needs
only to say "The Devil!" and right away they give him "the loud