One of the delights of Ken’s acquaintance with Andree was that each meeting with her seemed a fresh adventure; there was a sameness about these meetings. Andree always appeared just so, and conducted herself just so. He could foretell with exactitude what her every movement and gesture and word would be when she did appear. But somehow, probably unconsciously, she was able to impart to every rendezvous a freshness, an air of mystery, something elusive and elfin that made them, no matter how often repeated, always alluring, exciting, delightful. Her sudden appearances out of a life of which he knew nothing and her disappearances back into that life lifted this affair above the level of all other affairs, imparting to it something of the occult, giving play to the imagination.... Ken cherished this illusion and, therefore, though often tempted, he asked no questions. Even now he did not know her name—only Andree. Presently she appeared, just as he knew she would appear, walking very erect, with little steps that seemed almost stiff, her eyes cast downward or staring straight before her and seeming to see nothing whatever. He knew that she would approach within reach of his hand before she gave sign of recognition, and then she would regard him with grave query as if to ascertain if it were really he, and if, as she feared, she was not welcome. And then she would smile timidly, without taking her eyes from his, and shake hands with quaint formality, and ask how he carried himself. If she had changed any particular of it he would have been alarmed, would have felt a sense of loss. “Bert and Madeleine will meet us here,” he said. “It is well.” She smiled and nodded. “You have been at the front?” “Yes.” “You are ver’ _fatigué_ perhaps?” “No. I had a bully night’s sleep, and I’m ready for anything. We must have a regular party to-day. We’ll paint the town and all the suburbs.” “Oh, so ver’ fast. I do not onderstan’.... I do not onderstan’. You mus’ speak more slow.... Give me the _dictionnaire_.” “It was nothing.... Are you happy?” “Are you not here?” she said, gravely. There was something so timid, yet so confident about her, so gentle, so child-womanly, that the realization of it struck Kendall almost with the force of an accusation.... It was the forerunner of self-accusation which might have come then and there, had not Bert and Madeleine turned the corner and waved to them. Immediately the girls were chattering French, after their inevitable formal handshake. “Where to, children?” asked Bert. They turned to the girls. “Where are we going?” Ken asked. “Oh, out of the city. Let us go to the Bois—for the long day.” “_Oui_,” agreed Madeleine. “The Bois—every one—_tout le monde_—make themselves to go to the Bois.”