“_Non, non, non!..._” She was laughing now. “Maybe one leetle theenk—only. But I—oh, I have theenk of you ver’ much. I have theenk you are _pas fidèle_.” “I!... Not faithful!” “Yes.” She nodded her head decidedly. “Why do you say that? You know I am _fidèle_.” “I have see’ you.” “Seen me—where?” “Oh, you are ver’ wicked.... You deceive me mos’ cruel.” He could not tell if she were serious or if she were teasing him. “Also I am mos’ _jalouse_. It is thees yo’ng girl—thees yo’ng American girl. I have see’ you with her las’ night.” “Oh yes. We had dinner together. She has just come back to Paris for a day or two.” “Oh yes,” she mimicked. “I know thees leetle dinner. She tries to steal you away from me.... You like her more than me. It is so. I see it.... I shall take me a dagger and make her to die—so.” She laughed gaily. “You don’t really believe I’m unfaithful at all. You’re just making fun of me.” “Did you bring her _here_?” “Eh?... What’s that? Here? Maude Knox here?” “And why not? Since you are not _fidèle_.” “But you don’t understand. Maude Knox is an American girl. She wouldn’t—I couldn’t—” “Oh, it is so?... Then these American girls, they do not love. They are stone or wood, is it so?... I do not onderstan’ these American girls.” She was delightfully disgusted. “Sometime I shall cross the ocean to observe these girls. It will be ver’ droll. America mus’ be a ver’ droll, ver’ serious country—where the girls do not love.” “They do love. Of course they love.” “Well, then, Why do you make such astonishment when I speak that she comes here?” He waggled his hand helplessly, and she, perceiving that she was teasing him, put on greater pretense of seriousness. “Ah, I see,” she said. “The American girl she say, ‘I love,’ and then she enter into the convent.... She goes in the _jardin_ and see the bud about to blossom, and she cover it weeth a veil. Is it not? Oh, such love as thees! It is the love of the ice for the snow.” “It’s different, Andree. I can’t explain it to you because I can’t explain it to myself.” “_Pouf!_ Different! Do you theenk I cannot perceive it is different? Oh yes, monsieur. I perceive ver’ clearly ... the difference between alive and dead.” “You’re wrong. American girls can love—” “How do you know?” she interrupted, impishly. “—can love,” he persisted, “but all nice American girls marry—” “To be sure. Ah, marriage—that is ver’ well. There is nothing against marriage. Not in the least. Many people marry, and it is ver’ well. Why not?...” “I never can make you understand.” “Nevair.... I cannot to onderstan’ what is not natural. Do you onderstan’ if you see the river ron up the hill? _Mais non._ To love is to love; to marry is to marry. It is not the same theeng altogether....” “America is different.”