“She is very _well_,” said Andree, nodding her head prettily, “but also she is droll.” “Monsieur Bert also is droll,” said Madeleine, reaching out to bestow a little pat upon Bert’s hand. “All Americans are droll,” said Andree, solemnly. “_Tous les Américains sont fous_,” said Ken, quoting a saying of Paris, which adored Americans at the moment and delighted in their peculiarities and their absurdities, and laughed at them as one laughs at the antics of children, deciding, as its dictum had it, that all the Americans were mad. The _viande_ was served alone, as is the French custom, without a vegetable, but with a delicious sauce which the girls, disdaining butter, sopped from their plates with their bread—not at all a manifestation of ill-breeding, but the proper and natural and habitual method of eating. Ken turned to Andree. “I met your actor for you last night,” he said. “You have known an actor?... What actor?” “Monsieur Robert, of the Comédie Française. Do you know him?” “I have seen him. He is a very good actor—and very handsome, _n’est-ce pas_? Have you spoke of me?” “No, my dear. Give a fellow time.” “But you must, you must.... It is ver’ _nécessaire_—oh, you do not know how ver’ _nécessaire_. It is my need to enter into the _Académie_, and he must help me. You will know him better.” It was a command. “You will then make me to know him.” “I should say _not_.... He’s too handsome. I’m not going to take any such chance as that—I should say _not_.” “_Pourquoi?_” “Because I should be jealous,” he said. “_Non, non, non!_... You do not care. You only _say_....” “How am I going to convince you?” “I do not know. It is not possible.... I will not believe.” Ken turned despairingly to Madeleine. “She refuses to believe that I love her. How shall I make her believe?” Madeleine laughed at him. “How should I know?... It is for you to do. It is a thing easy of accomplishment.” “Is it easy to make her love me, too?” “French girls are not cold,” she said, in the most matter-of-fact way imaginable. “He loves an American girl.... I have seen her this night—yes. She is not beautiful. American girls do not know how to dress.” Andree shook her head and frowned at Ken. Arlette appeared presently with the vegetable, which she named and waited to see approved, and afterward with the salad and a like procedure. When the fruit appeared she made no observation, but asked, calmly, as if it were the most natural question in the world, “_Petit déjeuner_ for four?” Breakfast for four! It was dropping a thunderbolt on Kendall’s plate. He was shocked. He was frightened, and shot a quick glance at Andree and Madeleine. Andree was sipping her wine and appeared not to have heard; if she had heard she was not disturbed nor shocked nor angered. Madeleine was laughing. “_Arlette est très-méchante_—Arlette is very naughty,” she said.