“When do you meet Andree?” Bert asked.
“Eleven o’clock—at the Place de la Concorde. You and Madeleine are coming along?”
“Sure! We’ll pick you up there at eleven.”
“Anything happen here yesterday?”
“Not a thing. The boches disappointed everybody. I went to one of those dinners the crowd at the Union are always piloting a fellow to—this Society of French Homes, or whatever they call it.... Four of us dined with a Madame Lefebvre.”
“Good time?”
“Interesting. Played bridge with three French people, a deputy and two women. None of them spoke a word of English, but we made out pretty well. I won thirty francs.... They were rather upper crust in this town, I guess. Fine house and that sort of thing.”
“I must go to one of those some day,” said Ken, reflectively. “I’ve wondered if we were really seeing Paris—the way the French live.”
“Not if that dinner last night was a sample. I had to lug out all my manners. And the women—they sort of made me feel uncomfortable. Dignified, you know, but very friendly. It was all the family. Old grandmother and her sons and daughters and a few grandchildren. Patriarchal affair.”
“I want to see that sort of thing. People have told me that French family life is beautiful.... One wouldn’t think it to judge from what we’ve seen.”