The _cognac_ of the Maison Gustav was of a fiery nature.
The Irishman laughed.

"Ah, another peep behind the mask! You may be an artist, young man--- you may have advanced ideas--but, for all that, you're only out of the nursery! It's for me to make a man of you, I see.
Come, madame, the _addition_, if you please! We must be going." For a moment madame was lost in calculation, then she decorously mentioned the amount of their debt.
The Irishman paid with the manner of a prince, and, slipping his arm again through the boy's, moved to the door; there he looked back.
"Good-day, madame! Many thanks for your charming hospitality! Give my respects to monsieur, your husband--and kiss the little Leon for me!" They passed out into the rue Fabert, into the fresh and frosty air, and involuntarily the boy's arm pressed his.
"How am I to thank you ?" he murmured.

"It is too much--this kindness to a stranger." The Irishman paused and looked at him.

"Thanks be damned!--and stranger be damned!" he said with sudden vehemence.

"Aren't we citizens of a free world?
Must I know a man for years before I can call him my friend?
And must every one I've known since childhood be my friend?
I tell you I saw you and I liked you--that was all, and 'twas enough." Max looked at him with a certain grave simplicity.