the papers in the convent." She looked at me and laughed outright. "That squares us, doesn't it? So it was an old score, just as I thought."
"No," I answered, "it's not an old score. It's a brand-new one. It all happened after I'd chucked graft and passed my word to—to"
"Léontine?"
"Faugh!" said I.
"I beg your pardon," says Rosalie, and the smile had clean gone out of her face.
"Look here, little girl," said I, quick as a flash; "don't think for a second that I'm pretending to be in love again. I'm not. The woman I passed my word to is the wife of my half-brother, and she's not like the rest of us down here."
"Hush!" says Rosalie. "You needn't shout. I understand. Sœur Anne Marie is that kind. Just knowing them makes the rest of us who have naughty thoughts and too many feelings and a certain amount of honesty feel that, after all, it's worth while to kick along. Don't you think so?"
"Yes," I answered. "You're on, my dear. And now, after what I have told you, I fancy you won't mind climbing up on that seat and twisting your little waggon back to Paris. If you start right now you'll just about get to the Champs Elysées in time to take some of the boys to a different bar. Will a hundred francs cover our account?"
I spoke roughly on purpose, because I wanted her to flare up and clear. Here was a nice little woman, and an American at that, who had had troubles enough of her own; so I spoke to her as if what I said could have only one possible answer.
