“No, I do not believe. You love this yo’ng American girl because she theenks only of marry.... You will marry thees yo’ng girl.”
“I’m not going to marry anybody.”
“Americans always do. It is the law of the country. You have said it.”
“You know I love you.”
“I am afraid bicause of thees yo’ng girl.”
“Nonsense. I can’t marry anybody, Andree. All I have in the world is my captain’s pay. Nobody can tell how long the war will last, nor how long I will be held in the service after it is over—and when I am discharged ... well, what then? I don’t know. There’s nothing to look forward to but war ... just this and nothing else.”
She stroked his hand reflectively. “It is well,” she said, after a moment. “While there is war you shall be here. We shall theenk of nothing else.... Après la guerre”—she made a little gesture with both hands—“then we shall see.... I theenk you will be fidèle w’ile it is that you remain in France. I am satisfy—for now.”
“You don’t believe I love you.”
She mused, and then with that characteristic gesture of poking downward with her index finger she said: “I theenk many things. I theenk that I know jus’ one kind of love, and it ees love, it ees for all time and for all thing’. It ees for marry or for not marry. But I theenk you have two kinds of love—oui. Perhaps it ees américain—the custom of the country. One love for pleasure and—how do you say?—one love for business.... Listen, my friend. Do the pleasure love and the business love never come at the same time and for the same yo’ng girl? Eh?”
“I have never loved anybody but you.” He paused. “You know all about such things, mignonne. Is it possible for a woman to love two men at the same time—or for a man to love two women at the same time?”