As they walked she laughed and talked with the girls, responding excitedly to all that was said. They walked along a broad and almost empty boulevard in two rows of four and five abreast, with Mademoiselle and Judy bringing up the rear. The talk was general and there was much laughter. It was the kind of interchange that arose when they were all together and there was anything "in the air," the kind that Miriam most disliked. She joined in it feverishly. It's perfectly natural that they should all be excited about the holidays she told herself, stifling her thoughts. But it must not go too far. They wanted to be jolly.... If I could be jolly too they would like me. I must not be a wet blanket.... Mademoiselle's voice was not heard. Miriam felt that the steering of the conversation might fall to anyone. Mademoiselle was extinguished. She must exert her influence. Presently she forgot Mademoiselle's presence altogether. They were all walking along very quickly.... If she _were_ going to Norderney with the English girls she must be on easy terms with them. "Ah, ha!" somebody was saying. "Oh--ho!" said Miriam in response. "Ih--hi!" came another voice. "Tre-la-la," trilled Bertha Martin gently. "You mean Turrah-lahee-tee," said Miriam. "Good for you, Hendy," blared Gertrude, in a swinging middle tone. "Chalk it up. Chalk it up, children," giggled Jimmie. Millie looked pensively about her with vague disapproval. Her eyebrows were up. It seemed as if anything might happen; as if at any moment they might all begin running in different directions. "_Cave_, my dear brats, be artig," came Bertha's cool even tones. "Ah! we are observed." "No, we are not observed. The observer observeth not." Miriam saw her companions looking across the boulevard. Following their eyes she found the figure of Pastor Lahmann walking swiftly bag in hand in the direction of an opening into a side street. "Ah!" she cried gaily. "Voilà Monsieur; courrez, Mademoiselle!" At once she felt that it was cruel to draw attention to Mademoiselle when she was dumpy and upset. "What a fool I am," she moaned in her mind. "Why can't I say the right thing?" "Ce n'est pas moi," said Mademoiselle, "qui fait les avances." The group walked on for a moment or two in silence. Bertha Martin was swinging her left foot out across the curb with each step, giving her right heel a little twirl to keep her balance. "You are very clever Bair-ta," said Mademoiselle, still in French, "but you will never make a prima ballerina." "Hulloh!" breathed Jimmie, "she's perking up." "Isn't she," said Miriam, feeling that she was throwing away the last shred of her dignity. "What was the matter?" she continued, trying to escape from her confusion.