Presently she addressed me in German, inquiring the time we should reach Paris.
I don't know what possessed me, but I replied in French that I did not understand German. She repeated the question in French, and I answered. The young man took out his fob, and I could see that his watch was gone.
Half an hour passed. I tried to read the magazines, but invariably found myself gazing in the direction of the girl. After a space I heard her address the young man in German.
"What have you done? What have you done?" It was a very pathetic voice, verging on tears.
"Curse it, what's the use of taking on so? The money's gone; sniveling won't bring it back." He thrust his hands into his pockets and scowled at his boots. Suddenly he raised his eyes and stared suspiciously at me. Evidently an idea struck him. "Betty, perhaps this fellow opposite can understand German."
I never turned a hair. Somehow I was positive that he was the girl's brother. And just then it occurred to me that I had seen his face before, but where, I could not tell.
"But what shall we do? You dare not write home, and I have given you all but passage money, and I will not let you have that."
She was not German, but she spoke that language with a sweetness and fluency impossible to describe.
"But the pater will stand another call from you," the youth declared.