It was not until they alighted at the Étoile that Kendall was rid of the attentions of his friends, and even there one of them leaned out of the front door as Ken descended from the rear and shouted: “Give me love to your lidy friend, ol’ top.... ’Urrah for President Wilson....” Kendall did not regain his equanimity until they were nearing the apartment; it was the more difficult to regain because he had a feeling that Andree was laughing at him a bit, notwithstanding her grave face. He felt, somehow, that the necessity for maintaining dignity at all times—a foible of American youth—was not to be understood by Andree, and fell under that category of actions which she described as “_C’est drôle_.” Madame the _concierge_ greeted them with affability; the big glass door slammed behind them as it always did when Kendall forgot to hold it carefully, and the sound of its slamming echoed hollowly up the stairs. At the first floor Andree paused and clung to the banister. “Oh, you must have—what you call—?” She made a lifting motion with her hands. “An elevator?” “Yes, yes.... Now. At once. Go. Run quickly and fetch an elevator. I shall stay here.” He made pretense of lifting her in his arms. “No.... No.... I must have an elevator. Oh, you do not get me an elevator.” There was awful despair in her voice. “You do not love me.... No.... Then I shall go away. You are not kind.” “I’ll get you two elevators. I’ll get you half a dozen, but the elevator-store is closed for the night. You’ll have to wait till morning.” “Oh, I do not onderstan’. You speak _trop vite_—much fast. So I shall ron away from you....” And she danced away from him up the stairs, not at all like a young woman, but wholly like a child, with the glee of a child. “Behol’!” she cried, presently. “The _clef_ it is under the mat. I find it. I know where it is hidden. Now I shall come by night and rob you.... I shall carry away everything—everything.” She handed him the huge key and he opened the door for her and allowed her to pass into the narrow hall. She stopped timidly, waiting for him to enter, peering about as if some danger might lurk behind any of the doors. She was very sweet, very dainty.... “_Mignonne_,” he said, and took both her hands—and then she was in his arms, her lips to his ... and he knew that he loved her, that she had charmed his heart into her keeping—and that he was very glad to have it there. “You love me?” she whispered. “Much.... Much.... And you?” “Oh yes.... I am not _solitaire_ now. _Je suis très-joyeuse._” “You must always be glad. You must always be happy.” “As long as you love me.” “I shall always love you.” “_Non!... Non!..._ It ees not possible. In a day, in a week—I do not know when—you will go away, and I will be sad.” “I don’t know when I shall have to go, nor where I shall have to go.... It is the war.... But whenever and wherever, I shall love you.”