Why did he call her Mademoiselle? Why did he not say "Mary"? Oh, she must not think such thoughts. Probably he did not know her name, or if he ever knew it he must have forgotten it long ago. He was behaving so well, and she was behaving so badly. "I don't know what you must think of me," she murmured. "Mademoiselle, I should not dare to say so soon what I thought." "Is your opinion of me as bad as all that?" She was behaving like a coquette. What was happening to her? Mac's fight must have upset her more than she thought. "You are unkind to me," said Pierre with a shrug. "Unkind?" she echoed. "You taunt me with my position...." He broke off and began to play with the dog. Already a quarrel. How exciting life became when one could quarrel! "You misunderstand me, Monsieur," Mary said with a dignity that she hoped was a match for his. "I had not the least intention of taunting you. Perhaps you are trying to persuade yourself into thinking that, because you are afraid that you may have led me to suppose that you were more interested in thinking about me than you really were." "I am too much interested in you," Pierre retorted. "And you with the cruelty of your sex have perceived that too quickly. But you are right to make it clear to me that you have only condescended to give me your company.... Ah, Mademoiselle, do you think I have forgotten that when you first met me I was the gardener's son?" So he was! But he was French. And France was now a republic where all were equal. "I remember perfectly what you were," said Mary. "But I don't remember that it made any difference to me when I was ten, and I don't see why it should make any difference when I'm twenty." "Mademoiselle," cried Pierre, starting to his feet, "I entreat you not to mock me. I have no right to say what I feel for you. But at least I may beg you to spare my feelings." "You really do speak English quite perfectly," Mary exclaimed in obvious, open-eyed admiration of his fluency. "Mademoiselle, if I should wish to change my employer, I would beg you to give me a written testimonial." "Ah, now it's you who are sneering at me," said Mary, turning upon Pierre reproachful eyes. He made a gesture that was intended to convey how little it mattered to her what he did or what he said or what he thought. Who was he in her world? Mary felt that it would give quite a wrong impression of herself if she did not succeed in convincing him that she despised those artificial barriers of rank and station to which he evidently supposed she attached so much importance.