They retraced their steps to the Place de la Concorde and walked slowly up the Champs Élysées to the Étoile, and then diagonally to the left and so along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, that wonderful promenade so dear to Parisians. There they found chairs beside the broad graveled walk and seated themselves. They had progressed very well conversationally, for, though Andree’s English was but little more extensive than Kendall’s French, the two supplemented each other splendidly. A little pocket dictionary which Kendall always carried worked wonders. The little dictionary was a splendid thing, anyway. It grew to be a little joke between them and they laughed over it gaily; Andree became less restrained. Kendall would start a sentence in French and arrive at a point impassable. Neither English nor French could supply his meaning. “_Attendez_,” he would say, with mock solemnity, and then would produce the little book, and with heads close together in the dusk they would search it for the word. When they found it Andree would laugh at Kendall’s pronunciation of it.... The dictionary was a great promoter of acquaintance. He was more and more curious about her. He wanted to know who she was, and what she did, and if she worked for her living, and where she lived, but he could not screw up his courage to direct questions, and she volunteered nothing. Finally she said, “I must be at my home, for every day I have very much work.” “What do you work at?” he asked, brashly. “I must study. Many, many hours every day I must study.” “What are you studying?” “Many things.... I must study much, much, for the time is not long.... So I must be at my home _now_.” She pointed down at the ground with a pretty gesture, a childish gesture, the first manifestation of the sort she had shown him. “I must be at my home _now_—at this minute. Make me to be there—instantly.” Then she laughed gleefully. What a charming little thing she was, he thought, and was enchanted by her. “_Nous cherchons un taxi_,” he said, trying out his French. Apparently he did reasonably well, for she shook her head. “It is not _nécessaire_. No, I shall go on the Metro.... Good-by.” “But—oh, now listen. I’m to go home with you, of course. And we must see each other often—to learn French and English, you know.... You’re not going to send me away now.” She considered a moment. “You may come with me—_some_.... When I say, then you shall tell me good night. Do you promise?” “Yes,” he said, “but—” She arose and he accompanied her to the nearest station of the Metropolitan, into which they descended, he very curious to know where they were proceeding, and entered a passageway labeled “_Direction Châtelet_.” The train was crowded and there was little opportunity for speech until they changed to take another subterranean train which discharged them at Place St.-Michel—the heart of the Quartier Latin.