"And when he want' to tell some mo' my son he stop' him: 'Enough! I div-ine that. Why you di'n' take me al-ong? You'll arrange to go at that France, of my grand'mère, and that Alsace, of her mother, to be fighting aviateur, and leave 'Oiseau behine? Ah, you cann' do that!' And when that young Dubroca and Castanado get the win' of them, the all four, all of same sweet maladie, they go together; two to be juz' poilu', two, aviateur'. That old remedie, you know; if they can't love--they'll fight! They are yonder, still al-ive, laz' account."
Mainly to himself Chester said, "And I am here, my land still at peace, last account."
"And also you, you've h-ask' mademoiselle, I think," said the ironworker, "and alas, she's say aggain, no, eh?"
The reply was a gaze and a nod.
"Well, Mr. Chezter, I'm sorrie! Her reason--you can't tell. 'Tis maybe juz' biccause those hero' are yonder. 'Tis maybe only that those two aunt' are here. Maybe 'tis biccause both, maybe neither. You can't tell. Maybe you h-ask too soon. Ad the present she know' you only sinze a few week'. She don't know none of yo' hiztorie, neither yo' familie--egcep' that h-angel of the Lord. Yo' char-acter, she may like that very well yet same time she know' how easy that is for women to make miztake' about. Maybe y'ought to 'ave ask' M'sieu' Thorndyke-Smith to write at yo' home-town and get you recommen'. Even a cook he's got to 'ave that--or a publisher, eh?"
"I've got that--within reach; my law firm has it. But, pshaw! I think, Beloiseau, while all your maybe's may be right the thing that explains mademoiselle's whole situation is that she's never seen a man worthy to touch a hem of her robe; and the only argument a lover can lay at her feet is that she never will."
"And you'll lay that, negs time?"
"Not till that manuscript business is settled, don't you see? Come, you must go to bed."