“But, my dear, it's only profiteers who can eat brioches now-a-days.” “You just watch us.” They went into a patisserie. An elderly woman with a lean yellow face and thin hair waited on them, casting envious glances up through her eyelashes as she piled the rich brown brioches on a piece of tissue paper. “You'll pass the day in the country?” she asked in a little wistful voice as she handed Andrews the change. “Yes,” he said, “how well you guessed.” As they went out of the door they heard her muttering, “O la jeunesse, la jeunesse.” They found a table in the sun at a cafe opposite the gate from which they could watch people and automobiles and carriages coming in and out. Beyond, a grass-grown bit of fortifications gave an 1870 look to things. “How jolly it is at the Porte Maillot!” cried Andrews. She looked at him and laughed. “But how gay he is to-day.” “No. I always like it here. It's the spot in Paris where you always feel well.... When you go out you have all the fun of leaving town, when you go in you have all the fun of coming back to town.... But you aren't eating any brioches?” “I've eaten one. You eat them. You are hungry.” “Jeanne, I don't think I have ever been so happy in my life.... It's almost worth having been in the army for the joy your freedom gives you. That frightful life.... How is Etienne?” “He is in Mayence. He's bored.” “Jeanne, we must live very much, we who are free to make up for all the people who are still... bored.” “A lot of good it'll do them,” she cried laughing. “It's funny, Jeanne, I threw myself into the army. I was so sick of being free and not getting anywhere. Now I have learnt that life is to be used, not just held in the hand like a box of bonbons that nobody eats.” She looked at him blankly. “I mean, I don't think I get enough out of life,” he said. “Let's go.” They got to their feet. “What do you mean?” she said slowly. “One takes what life gives, that is all, there's no choice.... But look, there's the Malmaison train.... We must run.” Giggling and breathless they climbed on the trailer, squeezing themselves on the back platform where everyone was pushing and exclaiming. The car began to joggle its way through Neuilly. Their bodies were pressed together by the men and women about them. Andrews put his arm firmly round Jeanne's waist and looked down at her pale cheek that was pressed against his chest. Her little round black straw hat with a bit of a red flower on it was just under his chin. “I can't see a thing,” she gasped, still giggling. “I'll describe the landscape,” said Andrews. “Why, we are crossing the Seine already.” “Oh, how pretty it must be!” An old gentleman with a pointed white beard who stood beside them laughed benevolently. “But don't you think the Seine's pretty?” Jeanne looked up at him impudently. “Without a doubt, without a doubt.... It was the way you said it,” said the old gentleman.... “You are going to St. Germain?” he asked Andrews.