Maria's smile grew broader. "I thought I have made a conquest," she said, "and it is a husband."
She held out her hand. Peter took it, but his eager surprise at seeing her was chilled by a sudden thought.
"You're not—," he said, but he could not phrase it. He tried again. "You're not walking here alone?"
Maria's smile became a laugh. "And what then?" she asked.
"Good God!" said Peter in horror. And then almost to himself, "And it might have been any other soldier on the avenue."
"There, there," said Maria, checking her laughter and patting him on the arm. "It is not right for me to laugh at you. I should not forget to remember that you are the worrier. You think that maybe it is my living to walk in L'avenue de L'Opera and to look for the good-looking soldier. It should please that it is you I have selected, Peter. But no, there, it is not so. Come with me. My car it is around the corner. Do not let us stand here where maybe you will be compromised. We will drive to my studio. There we can talk."
Peter followed Maria around the corner where a limousine was waiting and got in.
"How do you manage to have a car in war time?" he asked.
"It is because I am the important person. Yes, that is true. You have not heard of me, Peter? Really? That is so extraordinary. You do not know that I am the singer?"
"Well," said Peter, "of course I heard that phonograph record you sent for Pat but that was fifteen years ago. I never heard from you again. Sometimes I went to the shops and asked if they had records of Maria Algarez but none of them had ever heard of you."