But it was all fascinating to Ken, all different and strange. Here was France again! He was seeing something foreign, not of the Middle West, and it was droll and incomprehensible to him. He did not speculate on what your Frenchman might have thought of a Sunday crowd at Coney Island or the Bronx Zoo or in Belle Isle Park in his own Detroit.... He reveled in it, drinking in eagerly the sensation that he was in another world peopled by incomprehensible beings who functioned in an incomprehensible manner. Here at least was none of the depression and woe of war.... Had it not been for the presence of uniforms, one would have forgotten war. Ken wondered if these people had been able to forget it—and then reflected that some of these that he saw might be killed before another dawn by bombs dropped upon their sleeping homes from ruthless German aeroplanes.... All was lightness and joyousness now; in a few hours every individual here might be cowering in a cellar, damp with the sweat of fear of imminent slaughter.... They dined expensively at a table under the trees and near to a fountain, and Andree exclaimed at the extravagance of it and declared that for days to come they must satisfy their hunger on bread and water.... They were very gay and very young. For that one day all cares and apprehensions had taken flight; they simply did what occurred to them, and the word _responsibility_ was scratched from their vocabularies. After a time they found a pleasant spot among the trees and sat down to rest, for such a day is very tiring. “Thees day has been ver’ well,” said Andree, nodding her head three times by way of punctuation. “I wish all days were like it,” Madeleine said in French. Andree regarded her gravely a moment, then shook her head emphatically. “No. It would not be well. The days like thees day are ver’ nice bicause they are seldom. To-day is for nothing but only happiness—yes. But it is not possible to be so happy to-day if we are not ver’ unhappy some other day.” “Do you think that unhappiness makes happiness?” said Bert, with a laugh. “But yes, monsieur. If there is not sadness there is no joy. It is of a truthfulness. _Certainement._ How do you know you are happy? It is bicause you theenk of days when you are ver’ miserable, and thees day is so different from that day. If all days shall be like to-day, then we shall be—how do you say?—we shall be bored.” “But if one is very miserable after he has been happy?” said Ken. Andree looked at him quickly as if trying to penetrate to the thought that prompted the question.