“Comment ca va! Yvonne? Bon?”
His pidgin-French made her show her little pearly teeth in a smile.
“Good,” she said in English.
They laughed childishly.
“Say, will you be my girl, Yvonne?”
She looked in his eyes and laughed.
“Non compris,” she said.
“We, we; voulez vous et' ma fille?”
She shrieked with laughter and slapped him hard on the cheek. “Venez,” she said, still laughing. He followed her. In the inner room was a large oak table with chairs round it. At the end Eisenstein and a French soldier were talking excitedly, so absorbed in what they were saying that they did not notice the other two. Yvonne took the Frenchman by the hair and pulled his head back and told him, still laughing, what Fuselli had said. He laughed.
“No, you must not say that,” he said in English, turning to Fuselli.