Toward the end of the dinner the diners heard a subdued whispering and giggling without, and then appeared little Arlette, bearing a dessert—a wonderful dessert. It was a pudding with a white frothiness of beaten egg covering it. It was a real dessert—the first, if one excepts fruit and ices without authority, that Ken had seen since he came to France. Little Arlette carried it to the table, and stood, big-eyed, mouth pursed, waiting for the astonishment which the miracle was to cause.... Arlette herself, wiping her chin on the back of her hand and grinning with delight, allowed her head to be seen through the door. “It is from the _concierge_,” she said, very rapidly. “She sends it to messieurs with her compliments.” “Now that’s mighty nice. You thank her, Arlette, and we’ll thank her when we go down.... I guess we haven’t made a hit with madame, eh?... And, _mignonne_! We must have another place, Arlette, and a spoon. But _mignonne_ does not like pudding, eh?” “_Oui_,” said little Arlette, her eyes growing even bigger, and the pucker turning into a smile. Kendall settled the child at table and then gravely introduced her to Andree. “She goes to America with me, you are to understand. I am about to ask Arlette for this young lady’s hand. But yes. We are very fond of each other. Is it not so, mademoiselle?” “Yes, monsieur,” replied little Arlette, very gravely. “Oh!... Oh!... You are ver’ naughty. I am jealous. I shall not stay. I shall go away.” Little Arlette observed her gravely. “Monsieur will be my husband,” she said. “It is arranged.” “Poor myself!... I am sad. I shall to weep.” Arlette looked at Andree interestedly and expectantly and cheerfully, not displeased to have caused this frightful storm of jealousy and well prepared to rejoice in the tears of her defeated rival. Kendall carried the mite into the other room and placed her on the sofa between himself and Andree, where she snuggled up to him with a charming little air of proprietorship. Andree bent suddenly to kiss the child, and then turned her head away and gazed out of the window.... “Now you shall sing for me,” said Kendall. Little Arlette stood very erect and sang in a sweet little voice that carried the airs very accurately, sang the songs of the street and the music-halls and of the _poilus_, while her grandmother stood just within the dining-room, wrapping and unwrapping her pudgy hands in her apron and grinning and nodding her head with enormous pride. The child sang with great seriousness, her head a little back, looking for all the world like a bird on the nest opening its beak for the mother bird to drop in a worm.... When she was through, and both Andree and Arlette laughed at some of the songs especially, though Ken could not understand a word, he put a franc in her hand and kissed her. Andree snatched her up and held her close and murmured in her ear. “Come now,” said Arlette, and the baby shook hands ceremoniously.