"Life is hard, Mon ami"—she told me—"And now that the English are here, it is difficult to keep from falling in love."
For a minute I thought she was going to insinuate that I had aroused her reflection—I warmed—but no—She had taken me seriously when I told her I required no blandishments.
That ugly little twinge came to me again.
"You like the English?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"They are very bons garçons, they are clean, and they are fine men, they have sentiment, too—Yes, it is difficult not to feel," she sighed.
"What do you do when you fall in love then, Suzette?"
"Mon ami, I immediately go for a fortnight to the sea—one is lost if one falls in love dans le metier—The man tramples then—tramples and slips off—For everything good one must never feel."
"But you have a kind heart Suzette—you feel for me?"