I see a boy who has thought.

You have thought.

Don't deny it!" "On religion ?" "On religion--and other things; you acknowledge it in one look." The boy laughed, like a child who has been caught at some forbidden game.
"Perhaps it was your imagination." "Perhaps! But, look here, we can't stand all day discoursing in the Cours la Reine! Where shall we wander--left or right ?" He nodded first in the direction of the river, then toward the large building that faced them on the right, from the roof of which an array of small flags fluttered an invitation.
The boy's eyes followed his movement.

"Pictures!" he exclaimed.

"I didn't know there was an exhibition open." "Live and learn! Come along!" Together they stepped into the roadway, where the frosty surface was scarred by the soldiers' feet, and together they reached the doorway of the large building and read the legend, "_Soctiete Peintres et Sculpteurs Francais_." The Irishman read the words with the faintly humorous, faintly sceptical glance that he seemed to bestow upon the world at large.
"Remember I'm throwing out no bait, but I expect 'twill be value for a couple of francs." They entered the bare hall and, mounting a cold and rigid staircase, found themselves confronted by a turnstile.
The Irishman was in the act of laying a two-franc piece in the hand of the custodian when the boy plucked him by the sleeve and, turning, he saw the curious eyes full of a sudden anxiety.
"Monsieur, pardon me! You know Paris well ?" "I live here for five months out of the twelve." "Then you can tell me if--if this exhibition will be well attended.