He stopped walking up and down and looked into her earnest eyes without grasping her meaning. "She is more feminine than one would suppose," he said to himself,—"almost interesting, really!"
"Come!" he cried, suddenly, "this is straying from the subject, which is dinner. Come!"
"We'd have to do some marketing, anyhow," she admitted, as if arguing with herself. "Perhaps it is better to go out."
"Most assuredly."
"Not at any fashionable place, Monsieur Jean——"
"Oh, no; is there any such place in the quarter?" he laughingly asked.
"Can't we go over on the other side?"
"Yes, my child, certainly."
"I know a place in Montmartre where one may dine en fête for two francs and a half, café compris." She was getting on her things, and for the first time was conscious of the hole in the heel of her stocking.
"There is the Café de Paris——"