"I can't," he muttered under his breath. "My God, why have I not more courage ... a gay Don Juan.... But perhaps she'd do something awful, throw a tin of water or.... A gay Don Juan," he repeated, in a louder voice, and then added: "It doesn't matter. I'll let her know I'm here." He raised his hand and tapped lightly on the pane, then turned, walked off for a distance of a few yards and stopped. Looking back he saw the light turned down and heard the window open. The girl looked out into the darkness. "Who is there?" she called in a low voice. "What do you want?" Moving quietly, Fitzgerald made his way back to the window again. The girl could see him now and apparently recognised him. "English soldier, you should be asleep," she said, in a voice charged with laughter. "Go away. What do you want?" "I want nothing," said Fitzgerald in a hoarse whisper. In the shadows he could see the outline of her face, which looked strangely white. "I was up at the Café," he said. "Coming back I saw the light, so I tapped.... Is it not time for you to be in bed?" "Listen to him!" said the girl, speaking in a whisper, and bringing her face close to the man's. "Time to be in bed, indeed! What does it matter to you when I go to bed? And I have work to do. You English soldiers never work.... Go away!" "You are always working, Fifi," said Fitzgerald, without moving from where he stood. "Always working," repeated the girl. "We are not like English girls; they never work. They have too much money. But I must go to bed," she said, making as though to shut the window. "Au revoir, English soldier." "Not yet, not yet!" said Fitzgerald, speaking hurriedly. "I want to speak to you." "What are you going to say?" asked the girl in a hesitating voice. Fitzgerald was silent. He had so much to say, but in reality he said nothing at all. He merely coughed, unbuttoned the pockets of his tunic and buttoned them up again. He looked at the girl, and her eyes dropped. "What are you going to tell me?" she asked. "Nothing," Fitzgerald stammered. "I mean.... Au revoir, Fifi." He turned round and walked away. When he got to the corner, he heard her calling. "English soldier, come back," she said in a loud whisper. Fitzgerald was back with her in an instant. "What is it, Fifi?" he asked. "Souvenir pour moi," she said, in a coaxing voice. "Jam, hat badges, many souvenirs. Boots for my father in the trenches. Other soldiers give me souvenirs often--but you--never. The sergeant gave me a big knife. Also chocolate. His mother sent it to him from England. But you, you never give me anything. Will you give me some souvenirs to-morrow?" "All right, I will, Fifi," said Fitzgerald. "Many souvenirs." "And I'll give you beer, café-au-lait, several things," said the girl, pulling the window a little way towards her. "Au revoir, English soldier." She held out her hand, the left, the nearer to her heart, and Fitzgerald took hold of it. Fifi looked at him smiling.