used, but it was perceptible only to the trained ear. And yet, to
Fitzgerald's mind, the man was at times something Gallic in his
liveliness.

"You will never use your title, then?"

Breitmann laughed. "No."

"You have made a great mistake. You should have fired the first shot
with it. You would have married an heiress by this time," ironically,
"and all your troubles would be over."

"Or begun," in the same spirit. "I'm no fortune hunter, in the sense
you mean. Pah! I have no debts; no crumbling _schloss_ to rebuild.
All I ask is to be let alone," with a flash of that moodiness of which
he had spoken. "How long will you be here?"

"Can't say. Three or four days, perhaps. It all depends. What shall
I say about you to them?"

"As little as possible."

"And that's really about all I could say," with a suggestion.

But the other failed to meet the suggestion half-way.

"You might forget about my ragged linen in Paris," acridly.

"I'll omit that," good-naturedly. "Come, be cheerful; fortune's wheel
will turn, and it pulls up as well as down. Remember that."