“At the corner of the rue Soufflot.... She may pass to-night.”
“And she may not pass for a month.”
“Then I’ll wait a month,” said Kendall, and Bert knew that his friend meant what he said.
They walked on up the boulevard and took seats at a table in that very café where Kendall had seen Andree and Monsieur Robert the night before. He could see that table, occupied now by a poilu and his sweetheart.... Bert ordered coffee for them, which came in thick glasses accompanied by a bottle of saccharin for the sweetening. Kendall left his glass untouched while his eyes fixed themselves on the street, now becoming ever more rapidly hidden by the dusk. Many people were passing, habitués of the Quartier Latin; young men in uniform with girls on their arms, skylarking, humming the chorus of “Madelon”; old women making a last effort of the day to sell bright-colored Rintintins and Ninettes fabricated out of worsteds, those quaint little charms which were all the rage in Paris, and which were supposed to make one safe from Big Bertha and the bomb of the air raid. One young girl passed clinging to the arm of a youth in a broad hat, baggy corduroy trousers, paint-daubed coat, and flowing tie—a figure who might have stepped out of the pages of Henri Mürger. He seemed the very genius of the Latin Quarter, a hungry peintre with canvas under his arm, and his gay-hearted little mistress who cooked his meals and shared his hunger and poverty brightly.... Kendall watched them go and envied them the thing that was theirs. Now and then a gendarme, wearing his short sword, passed stiffly.... It became darker and darker, and the crowd in the café thinned itself away until nobody remained but himself and Bert. Impatient waiters began piling up chairs and moving tables against the wall. Dim, hooded, blue street-lights glowed in the distance, making the boulevard ghastly and somber.... The darkness became impenetrable, but still Kendall lingered, hoping, demanding that Andree’s dainty little figure appear.
“No use, Ken,” Bert said. “She won’t come now, and if she did you wouldn’t be able to see her.”
“I can’t go till I’m sure,” Ken answered.
“Let’s walk, then. More chance of seeing her out on the sidewalk.”
They arose and sauntered slowly toward the Panthéon, crossing the very spot where Andree had given Kendall that first kiss.... They retraced their steps. The streets were now all but deserted; only here and there was a hurrying figure, or upon some bench along the curb a pair of lovers sitting close and whispering in each other’s ears.
“It’s eleven o’clock,” said Bert. “Come on home.”
“Yes,” said Ken. “It is too late now. She won’t come to-night....”