"What is the matter?" he said, in his astonishment.
She looked at him and laughed aloud.
He did not understand.
"Why are you laughing?" he asked. "Did I say anything funny?"
The more he insisted, the more she laughed. When she had almost finished she had only to look at his crestfallen appearance to break out again. She got up, ran to the sofa at the other end of the room, and buried her face in the cushions to laugh her fill; her whole body shook with it. He began to laugh too, came towards her, and slapped her on the back. When she had done laughing she raised her head, dried the tears in her eyes, and held out her hands to him.
"What a good boy you are!" she said.
"No worse than another."
She went on, shaking occasionally with laughter, still holding his hands.
"Frenchwomen are not serious?" she asked. (She pronounced it: "Françouése.")
"You are making fun of me," he said good-humoredly.