"Understand at once," she said haughtily. "Either you leave me
unjarred by your English conventionalities, or you pay these miserable
francs and go back to Lucerne alone!"

Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was angry, but could not insist
further.

When they got outside, her voice grew caressing again as she led the
way to a path up among the young beeches.

"Paul--foolish one!" she said. "Do you not think I understand and know
you--and your quaint English ways? But imagine how silly it is. I am
quite aware that you have ample money to provide me with a feast of
Midas--all of gold--if necessary, and you shall some day, if you
really wish. But to stop over paltry sums of francs, to destroy the
thread of our conversation and thoughts--to make it all banal and
everyday! That is what I won't have. Dmitry is there for nothing else
but to _eviter_ for me these details. It is my holiday, my
pleasure-day, my time of joy. I felt young, Paul. You would not make
one little shadow for me--would you, _ami?_"

No voice that he had ever dreamt of possessed so many tones in it as
hers--even one of pathos, as she lingered over the word "shadow," All
his annoyance melted. He only felt he would change the very mainspring
of his life if necessary to give her pleasure and joy.

"Of course I would not make a shadow,--surely you know that," he
said, moved. "Only you see a man generally pays for a woman's food."