"Yes. Of course. But, nevertheless, the resemblance is striking." He rose to go. "I hope, Monsieur, that this kidnapped boy may be restored to his father very soon. I am anxious to return to America."
"What! Leave Paris so quickly? My dear Duvall, I thought you Americans loved our city so well, that you never wanted to leave it."
"Paris is all right, Monsieur; but," he laughed heartily, "I must get back to my wife and my farm. I was forced to leave in the very middle of my spring plowing."
The Prefect roared. "You—a farmer! Mon Dieu! How droll! Potatoes, I suppose, and chickens, and dogs, and pigs—"
"Exactly—and, believe me, Monsieur, they are more to my liking, than all the gaieties of Paris. Some day you must make us a visit, and see for yourself." He turned toward the door.
"I shall, Duvall, I shall. But first we have to find this boy. What do you propose to do next?"
Duvall smiled. "What do you?" he retorted.
"A bottle of champagne, my friend, and a dinner at the Café Royale, that we find the child before you do!"
"Done! Now I'll be off. Good night."
The Prefect was still laughing when Grace peeped in from the private office, to find that Richard had gone. "I think it's a shame to treat him so," she said. "The poor fellow! And he would have gotten the kidnappers, if we hadn't interfered."