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Updated: June 25, 2025
After a while, a boy leaned out: "Hey, l'Americain, vous voulez monter?" "Where are you going?" "Conflans-Ste.-Honorine." "Where's that?" The boy flourished his whip vaguely towards the horse's head. "All right," said Andrews. "These are potatoes," said the boy, "make yourself comfortable. Andrews offered him a cigarette, which he took with muddy fingers.
Or, more possibly, it was the unaccustomed look of embarrassment upon her face and a half-laughing petulance as of a naughty child caught in mischief. "Good-day, Monsieur l'Americain," she said, gayly, smiling into the serious face Calvert turned toward her. "Will you forgive me for pressing you into service in so offhand a manner? but perhaps you were looking for me?"
"Does M. l'Américain go with us?" asked Fargeau. "Why of course," I replied, "I intend to go, and you must not refuse me, d'Ardeche; I decline to be put off. Here is a chance for you to do the honors of your city in a manner which is faultless. Show me a real live ghost, and I will forgive Paris for having lost the Jardin Mabille." So it was settled.
It was the planton into whom I had had the distinguished honour of bumping shortly after my visit to le bain. The Hollanders and Fritz were at the gate in a mob, all shouting "Which" in four languages. This planton did not deign to notice them. He repeated roughly "L'americain." Then, yielding a point to their frenzied entreaties: "Le nouveau."
I was still wondering at my good luck in occupying the same miserable yard with this exquisite personage when a hoarse, rather thick voice shouted from the gate: "L'americain!" It was a planton, in fact the chief planton for whom all ordinary plantons had unutterable respect and whom all mere men unutterably hated.
This intrusion, Monsieur l'Américain, is unpardonable," he went on, recovering his composure with a great effort, "unpardonable unless, indeed, Monsieur hoped to gain what I have just lost," he added, smiling his brilliant, insolent smile, though he had to half-kneel for support upon the marble edge of the fountain.
After a long time I returned to my bunk and I lay down, closing my eyes; feeling the snow's minute and crisp touch falling gently and exquisitely, falling perfectly and suddenly, through the thick soundless autumn of my imagination.... "L'americain! L'americain!" Someone is speaking to me. "Le petit belge avec le bras casse est la-bas, a la porte, il veut parler...."
He studied my face with a puzzled air, appearing slightly embarrassed that before him should stand l'americain and that l'americain should admit it, and that it should all be so wonderfully clear. I saw a second dictum, even more profound than the first, ascending from his black vest. The chain and fob trembled with anticipation. I was wholly fascinated.
Another stranger, of political celebrity out of doors, styled himself American as well as Paine, Fournier l'Americain, a mulatto from the West Indies, whose complexion was not considered "incompatible with freedom" in France, a violent and blood-thirsty fellow, who shot at Lafayette on the dix-sept Juillet, narrowly missing him, led an attacking party against the Tuileries on the dix Aout, and escaped the guillotine to be transported by Bonaparte.
"Monsieur l'Américain," he said, lowering his point and coming up quite close to Calvert, "Monsieur, you have a trick of being damnably mal apropos. I have had a lesson from you in skating and one in singing, but I need none in love-making. My patience never very great, I fear is at an end, sir!
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