upon a time he met a refugee, and at once begins to talk. I have met
refugees myself. The only thing they have ever taught me is not to
leave my brandy flask about.

[And, finally, because I don't believe he's true.]

I don't believe in these heroes and heroines that cannot keep quiet
in a foreign language they have taught themselves in an old-world
library. My fixed idea is that they muddle along like the rest of
us, surprised that so few people understand them, begging everyone
they meet not to talk so quickly. These brilliant conversations with
foreign philosophers! These passionate interviews with foreign
countesses! They fancy they have had them.

I crossed once with an English lady from Boulogne to Folkestone. At
Folkestone a little French girl--anxious about her train--asked us a
simple question. My companion replied to it with an ease that
astonished herself. The little French girl vanished; my companion
sighed.

"It's so odd," said my companion, "but I seem to know quite a lot of
French the moment I get back to England."



CHAPTER XIII



[How to be Healthy and Unhappy.]