“Arlette est très-méchante—Arlette is very naughty,” she said.
Bert shouted with laughter as at some superlative witticism, and both the girls looked at him rather surprised. Then Madeleine laughed a bit, as one laughs who does not quite see the point. Kendall watched Andree in consternation. What would she do? What would she say? What would she think?... She did nothing, said nothing, apparently thought nothing, but pared a banana with quaint intensity as if a banana were a strange and interesting fruit. She seemed always to be interested in her food with a sort of naïve curiosity and a very real appetite. Her appetite seemed to Kendall to be the only material thing about her. The rest was mystery, dainty, rather elfin, mystery.... And here was a new mystery—her attitude of unconcern in face of Arlette’s faux pas. Why, the question had not touched her at all! It might as well not have been asked.... Or, in this strange country, was it possible that the cuisinière always expected her master’s feminine guests to remain for breakfast as well as dinner? He wondered....
“Will they take Paris—the boches?” Andree asked, suddenly.
The Germans had broken across the Chemin des Dames and were rushing headlong toward the Marne. News was filtering through only in driblets. Paris was uneasy. One saw nondescript vehicles, piled with trunks and hampers, making haste for the railroad stations, as frightened inhabitants betook themselves to the country. Nobody knew what would happen, but for months the fortune had been bad—and Paris was asking if it had reached its worst.
“Of course not,” said Bert, dogmatically.
“But they are very strong—they have great numbers.”
“There are the Americans,” said Madeleine.
“To be sure—the Americans. But they are in Lorraine. The journals say they are in Lorraine.”
“You will see,” said Madeleine, for she had more than her share of Paris’s enthusiasm for its newest ally.
“Don’t you worry. The boches are going to get themselves thrashed.... Paris!...” Bert shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.