We were soon at the café in the Rue de Beauvais, and the waiter gave us a little table in a corner near the window, whence we could look out upon the busy street. I shall not soon forget that meal. Mlle. Ribaut laughed with delight as the coffee was placed before her, and served it with the prettiest grace in the world. As for me, I almost forgot to eat in gazing at her.
“You appear distracted, M. le Moyne,” she cried. “I’ll wager you are thinking with what an irksome charge you have burdened yourself.”
“Not at all, Mademoiselle,” I answered quickly. “I was thinking how difficult it is to be a brother to an adorable girl with whom one is just getting acquainted.”
“I do not find it at all difficult, Monsieur,” and she laughed gayly. “I assure you, I find it delightful to be a sister. I have never before been a sister, Monsieur, and I enjoy having a big brother immensely.”
I glanced at her merry face, but saw there only guilelessness and innocent good will. My heart fell within me, and I cursed myself for a fool.
“Well, Mademoiselle,” I began.
“Oh, come, Monsieur,” she interrupted, “does a man always call his sister Mademoiselle?”
“No more than a sister calls her brother Monsieur,” I retorted readily.
“Well, my name is Nanette, as I have already had the honor of telling you,” she said.
“And mine is Pierre.”