He looked at the American with surprise. " Did you ad-
dress yourself to me, monsieur ? " he asked. " Is there not
some mistake ? Whom have I the honor to speak to ? "

" M. Portou, I believe," the American said, firmly. He
did not inform the other that he knew how, every day since



THE ANATOMIST. 185

they had met at Madame Mosseline's, this fatherly-looking
man had followed him about ; he merely looked at him
steadily and without speaking. There must have been
something in the unflinching gaze of the American which
acted upon the other as the sun does upon a fog. Certain it
is that the innocently mystified air of the florid Frenchman
changed.
"Is it possible ?" he exclaimed. " And this is monsieur
the Canadian. I am delighted to see you. . Allow me the
honor of your hand." He shook hands with him cordially^
and they talked in an amicable manner as they walked on.
" I observed at the time that^ although present and tak-
ing some part in the seancey you are not yourself a social-
ist," Henry Harris said at length. M. Portou colored,
seemed to be for a moment embarrassed. " No, monsieur,"
he said at last, as with sudden frankness, " like yourself, I
am no Red Kepublican, either philosophic or practical."

" And you are an anatomist ? " asked the other.
