“_Je vous aime, Je vous adore, Que voulez-vous encore?_” She turned to look full in his face, her lovely, childish eyes alight with mischief. “It is not a poem,” she said; “it is a declaration.” “Exactly,” he said, half seriously. “Oh no, no, no! You do not love me.... It ees not _possible_. No. You do not know me enough yet.” Without thought he made the leap. “Of course I do. How could I help it?... Don’t you love me?” He talked to her as he would talk to a child. “I do not know—yet. I have not known you. We shall see.” She was perfectly serene and perfectly serious. It startled him. “By Jove!” he said to himself, “things move rapidly in this country.” He was right. France has a way of omitting unessentials and of disregarding shams and subterfuges. If there is a destination to arrive at, France does not walk around the block to reach it, but cuts straight across. “You are sure you are not married?” she said. “You tell the truth?” “I’m not, and I’m not going to be,” he said, decidedly. At least he would put an end to any such speculations. “_Pourquoi?_” There it was again, that direct, troublesome _why_. “Because I don’t like it. I don’t want to be married.” She nodded. Apparently the reason was perfectly good and sufficient to her. She directed her attention to the play. “Now,” she said, “thees ol’ man he has make love to thees yo’ng girl. Also he has promise her much money, and she will love him.” “I don’t like that,” he said. “I can see, maybe, why people should love each other and all that, but the money part of it! I don’t like that at all. That isn’t—good.” “_Pourquoi?_ It is that a girl must live. She must eat. Because she loves must she starve?” There was practical France speaking, and France, in spite of temperament, in spite of surface excitability and eccentricity, is eminently practical—especially your France of the poorer sort. France may jump, but she jumps with her eyes open, and with a pretty sure knowledge of where she will fall.... The play moved on to its climax, Andree translating, but little translation was necessary, for the pantomime carried the story. “It will be better for you to see a tragedy,” said Andree. “This is _comédie_. The actors speak fast in _comédie_; in tragedy they speak more slow.” She showed him how tragic actors speak, and it was deliciously funny.