Madeleine was singing now. She always sang, Kendall discovered, mostly popular _chansons_. And Andree joined. It was that song dear to the _poilu_—“_Madelon_”—with its catchy air, its characteristic Frenchness. Madeleine sang gaily, carelessly, Andree seriously and without a smile.... Then the girls chattered with each other, becoming acquainted, while the young men smoked and tried to edge into the conversation, or to catch a stray word here and there. At last Andree rose. “You must take me to my house.” she said. “So early?” “It is ver’ _nécessaire_.” “Coming?” Ken said to Bert, who cast a sidewise glance at Madeleine, and said: “No. We don’t go your way, anyhow.... See you later.” So Kendall and Andree said good night and went down the stairs, counting the flights gaily, he offering to become an elevator to carry her down if she became tired, and she demanding that he do so at once, without delay. “Your friend, he is a high yo’ng man,” she said, suddenly. And that became a joke between them. Ever after that they referred to Bert, not by name, but as the “high yo’ng man.” When people begin to have private jokes between just themselves they are getting on very well indeed.... Once more he took her to the Place St.-Michel and a little way up the Boulevard. There she dismissed him, but they lingered with their good nights. She seemed very gentle, very desirable, very sweet.... He was not afraid of her as he had been before. Some sort of message had traveled between them.... Kendall took the hand she extended, then he drew her to him and kissed her. She submitted, but did not return his kiss. “When?” he asked. “The day following to-morrow. Place de la Concorde. Metro. _Sept heures._” It was becoming a part of their ritual. And then she disappeared into the darkness—whither, he did not know; back into that mystery which was her life, from which she emerged from time to time as mysteriously as she disappeared.... He was impressed by this mystery tonight. He did not know her name—only Andree. She was a sort of apparition that manifested itself daintily, primly, conducted itself bewitchingly, and withdrew itself into the unknown.... He took the Metro back to the Étoile and walked home. The light was burning in the hall. When he hung his hat on the hall tree he found it still encumbered by Madeleine’s hat and jacket.... Kendall went to bed in a frame of mind.... Madeleine had seemed such a _nice_ girl. She _was_ a nice girl. Why, Andree had liked her.... His mother in him was shocked, affronted. Yet, somehow, Kendall was not so shocked as he expected himself to be. He didn’t know how he felt ... his thoughts were a turmoil, and he kept repeating to himself, “She _is_ a nice girl ... she is a nice girl,...” as one who is bewildered in the presence of some incomprehensible phenomenon.... CHAPTER VII