That will not be difficult, I imagine. He is not dreaming
or sleeping, or looking out on the landscape lighted by the last rays
of the sun. If I am not mistaken he will be just as glad to speak to me
as I am to speak to him--and reciprocally.
I will see. But a fear restrains me. Suppose this American--and I am
sure he is one--should also be a special, perhaps for the _World_ or
the _New York Herald_, and suppose he has also been ordered off to do
this Grand Asiatic. That would be most annoying! He would be a rival!
My hesitation is prolonged. Shall I speak, shall I not speak? Already
night has begun to fall. At last I was about to open my mouth when my
companion prevented me.
"You are a Frenchman?" he said in my native tongue.
"Yes, sir," I replied in his.
Evidently we could understand each other.
The ice was broken, and then question followed on question rather
rapidly between us. You know the Oriental proverb:
"A fool asks more questions in an hour than a wise man in a year."
But as neither my companion nor myself had any pretensions to wisdom we
asked away merrily.
"_Wait a bit_," said my American.
I italicize this phrase because it will recur frequently, like the pull
of the rope which gives the impetus to the swing.
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