They went to an adjacent bus-stand, where Andree tore two numbers from a packet fastened to a post. The bus appeared, passengers alighted, and the conductress began calling off numbers. Only those were allowed to mount whose numbers were called, for overcrowding is not permitted. The bus rolled away without them, but presently another appeared, their numbers were called, and in ten minutes they were walking down the Avenue de l’Opéra toward the theater. Kendall bought seats, the most expensive in the house, and they entered, mounting the broad stairway to the gallery, where they permitted themselves to be shown into a species of box by an attendant. The play was just commencing. “Do you onderstan’ it?” Andree asked. “Not enough to do any good.” “Then I shall explain it to you.” And as the action progressed she pattered on with explanations and observations very cunningly and charmingly. “You see thees ol’ man? He is in love with thees yo’ng girl. But she—she does not love him. It is ver’ sad. Thees yo’ng man who is ver’ handsome, she loves him.” Suddenly she turned to him and asked: “Are men in America—oh, how do you say—what is the word? _Fidèle._ Do you know _fidèle_?” “Faithful—constant—is that it?” “Yes. Are American men so?” “Why—generally, I guess.” She shook her head somberly. “Frenchmen are not. They are most _infidèle_. It is ver’ sad.” “How about French girls?” “Oh, some are _fidèle_ and some not. Some Frenchmen are _fidèle_. The poor. _Oui._ It is the rich men and women who are not _fidèle_.” “Are you rich?” She laughed. “No, I am ver’ _fidèle_.” “So the poor folks always marry and are faithful?” he asked, with real curiosity. “Oh, they are faithful. Not always do they marry. No. Sometimes they are too poor, sometimes they do not want to, but they are _fidèle_. But yes. Do young men and young girls in America always marry?” “Yes.” “It is very strange. Not so in France. No.” “What then?” “A young man love a young girl, and a young girl love a young man.... They marry, maybe. That is well. But maybe they do not marry. It is expensive to marry. Then they see each other very often and he gives her money so she can live.... That is well, because they are _fidèle_.” Kendall gasped mentally. What would Detroit, what would his mother think of such a theory of life as this? How would they regard a mode of living which places fidelity over the solemn forms of marriage? Here was a people who apparently valued love and fidelity more than marriage licenses and wedding-rings!... It sounded very naughty to Kendall. Also it made him think. His mother and his father tried to function in him simultaneously and made a chaos of his thoughts.... The play continued. “Oh, you should onderstan’ French better. You must speak it well, _well_!” she exclaimed. “Then I can read poems to you. Do you know French poetry?” He laughed. “I know one poem,” he said. “Tell it to me.” He recited: