"Pay! And who has asked you to pay anything? Do you suppose—ah! Monsieur Jean, you don't think me that!"
"But one can't be expected to work for nothing," protested the young man, humbly.
"Work? It would be pleasure. And then you would be paying for what we ate, wouldn't you? I have to make my coffee,—it would be just as easy for two. And you would be perfectly free to dine at the restaurant when you chose,—we'd be as free as we are now,—and I would not intrude——"
"Oh, I never thought of that!" he declared.
"Do not spoil my pleasure by suggesting money!" Her voice was growing low and the lips trembled a little, but only for a second or two, when she recovered her ordinary tone.
"As a rich man's son living in the Faubourg St. Honoré you might have suspected that motive, but as a medical student chassé, and deserted by his parents and with no prospects to speak of——"
His lugubrious smile checked her.
"Pardon! Monsieur Jean, I did not wish to remind you of your misfortunes. Let us put it on purely selfish grounds. I am poor. I am alone. I am lonely. I should at least earn my coffee and rolls. I would see you every day. My time would be pleasantly occupied. I will be a sister,—bonne camarade,—nothing more, nothing less——"
He had taken her hands impulsively, but her eyes were veiled by the heavy lashes.
"Voilà! It is then understood?" she asked, venturing to look up into his face.