"ça ne vous gênera pas?"
She asked the question with such a little air of serious solicitude that he laughed, for the first time. Would it upset his budget, involve the sacrifice of a tram ride or a packet of tobacco, if he spent a few sous on more syrup for her delectation? And yet the delicacy of her motive appealed to him. Here was a little creature very honest, very much of the people, very proud, very conscientious.
"On the contrary, Mademoiselle," said he, "I shall feel that you do me an honour."
"It is not to be refused," said she politely, and the serving maid was despatched for more beer and syrup.
"I waited to see your turn," she said, after a while.
"Ah!" he sighed.
She glanced at him swiftly. "It does not please you that I should talk about it?"
"Not very much," said he.
"But I found you admirable," she declared. "Much better than that espèce de poule mouillée--I already forget his name--who played last week. Oh--a wet hen--he was more like a drowned duck. So when I heard a comedian from Paris was coming, I said: 'I must wait' and Margot and I waited in the wings--and we laughed. Oh yes, we laughed."
"It's more than the audience did," said the miserable Andrew.