“I’ve heard just two hundred and seven men say that at one time and another. Seems to be a stock phrase in the language of young gentlemen in your state of mind.... Anyhow, I’m glad the rumpus is settled. I can get some sleep now.” “Does he scold you?” Andree asked. “It doesn’t matter what he does,” Ken said, laughingly. “Nothing matters.... There’s Arlette’s head through the door. Let’s eat.” Arlette served silently, but as she moved about the table she kept her eyes furtively upon Andree, and her lips moved constantly without uttering a sound. This continued until it was time to remove the meat, and then Arlette could contain herself no longer. She reached the door on her way to the kitchen with the platter, when, with startling suddenness, she turned, replaced the platter on the edge of the table, folded her hands across her stomach, rolled her eyes to heaven, and launched upon a harangue in such rapid French that it seemed one continuous word of mingled syllables. Andree listened gravely, nodding her head the merest trifle every moment or so. Then Arlette paused expectantly and Andree replied with all the gravity of a Cabinet Minister facing a crisis. At the end of a sentence she got out of her chair and walked to Ken and put her arm about his neck and her cheek to his, continuing the reply thence. Arlette rolled her eyes and waggled her head and heaved great sighs.... Presently her set face relaxed and she smiled and wiped her chin on the back of her hand. “_Mon Dieu!..._” she said. “_Mon Dieu!..._” and with a tremulous smile which, somehow, was not at all absurd on her heavy face—was almost tender—she retreated with suddenness to her kitchen. “Well,” said Ken, “what now, _mignonne_? What’s it all about?” Andree shook her head gaily. “No!... No!... It is not for you. I shall not speak it.” “Was it so terrible as that?... I’m afraid I have made an enemy of Arlette.” “But no. Well, dear friend, it is that she have much worry for you. Yes. She have much worry. She theenk you—oh, it is ver’ fonny!—she theenk you are leetle child that is lost and also is mad! She theenk something happen to you if you have no one to take care of you. She tell me I mus’ not be angry with you, but ver’ nice and kind always, bicause it is not your fault you are a baby and mad.... Oh yes. She say she love you like she is your _marraine_, but she is powerless to make you to be protected.... And she theenk I mus’ take you by the hand same theeng as you are blind.... So I have promise’, and now she will not worry, but gives you to me to care for. She have been mos’ unhappy. She say that only God can onderstan’ a mad American who is in love!...” “Arlette,” said Bert, “is a woman of sound judgment.” “Where is Mademoiselle Madeleine?” Andree asked, with one of those sudden changes of subject which were characteristic of her. “I haven’t the least idea.” “Why is she not here? I want her to be here. I would speak of many things to her.”