There is nothing of the angel about me, I hope.

Your friend, too! Do you think I have never been used to taking care of my comrades in hospital before you played the sick-nurse here ?" She spoke with all her brusque petulance in arms again; she hated that he should imagine she had sacrificed her fete-day to Leon Ramon, because the artist-trooper was dear to him; she hated him to suppose that she had waited there all the hours through on the chance that he would find her at her post, and admire her for her charity.

Cigarette was far too proud and disdainful a young soldier to seek either his presence or his praise.
He smiled again; he did not understand the caprices of her changeful moods, and he did not feel that interest in her which would have made him divine the threads of their vagaries.
"I did not think to offend you, my little one," he said gently.

"I meant only to thank you for your goodness to Ramon in my absence." Cigarette shrugged her shoulders.
"There was no goodness, and there need be no thanks.

Ask Pere Matou how often I have sat with him hours through." "But on a fete-day! And you who love pleasure, and grace it so well--" "Ouf! I have had so much of it," said the little one contemptuously.