“Let’s eat,” said Bert. “She’s given me the sack.”
“Pauvre Monsieur Bert. It ees ver’ sad. Oh, she is très-méchante, ver’ naughty. I do not onderstan’.”
They went out to the table and sat down. Kendall sat in gloomy silence, Bert was suffering from wounded vanity, and Andree looked from one to the other uncomfortably.
“It is nécessaire to smile,” she said, and touched Ken’s hand with her finger-tips.
“I don’t feel much like smiling, mignonne.”
“Pourquoi?”
Arlette entered with the potage to save him from replying to her question, and, placing the huge bowl in the middle of the table, stood regarding Andree dolefully, with two big tears standing on her fat cheeks.
“Even Arlette makes to weep,” said Andree. “It is ver’ strange. What is happen?”
“Pauvre mademoiselle! ... pauvre mademoiselle!...” said Arlette, and, turning very abruptly, she scuttled out of the room.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?... Why does she speak this theeng?” She turned startled eyes upon Ken.