"I always trust people who are silent and look straight at you when you speak," said the wise Louise, who was twenty-eight years old, and admired Georges Ohnet.
"I don't like Fritz," remarked Mireille. "I hate the shape of his head—and especially his ears," she added.
"Don't be silly," said Chérie.
Frieda, who was just dipping a fresh roll into her coffee, looked up. "He has the ears God gave him," she remarked, with pinched and somewhat tremulous lips.
Every one looked at her wonderingly, and she flushed scarlet as she bent her head and dipped her roll into her cup again.
After breakfast Louise went to rest for a few hours; Frieda said she had some letters to write, and the two girls went out to call on their friends and make plans as to what they would do on Chérie's birthday, the 4th of August.
They went to Madame Doré's house in the Place du Marché and found their friends Cécile and Jeannette busy with their boy-scout brother, André; they were sewing a band with S.M. on it, on the right sleeve of his green shirt.
"What is S.M.?" inquired Mireille.
"That means Service Militaire," replied André proudly.
"Fancy!" exclaimed Mireille. "And you only fifteen!"