attracted to
him and other times I almost dislike him.” When
Helene nodded, Janine continued, “And you? Have
you found anyone?”
Helene smiled wistfully and shrugged. “There is still
much time. I am younger than you, remember? But tell
me, what do you think of Mark?”
“I don’t know,” Janine confessed. “At first I disliked
him very much. Even now he often irritates me. But he
is more serious, more gentle with Rena than any other
boy friend she has had since Alex. I think he will be
good for her.”
“Perhaps. Yes, I think so. But will she be good for
him?” Helene persisted.
It was Janine’s turn to shrug her shoulders. “I don’t
know. He seems to think so. I had the impression you
didn’t like him, so why are you worried?”
“I dislike waste,” she replied cryptically. “Ah, there
is our house.”
Helene pointed to a large two-story stone house with
a red tile roof, red brick trim, and red wooden shutters.
Helene walked ahead, up the flagstone path, and rang
the bell. A woman, clearly her mother, answered the
door. She smiled at Janine without warmth. “Bonjour.”
“Je suis enchantee de faire voire connaissance,”
Janine responded in rapid French.
The woman looked startled. “Entrez, “she said.
Janine let Helene precede her. A moment later she
found herself in a lovely sitting room. Automatically
speaking in French, Janine complimented Helene’s
mother on the room, and Mme. Durand began to
visibly thaw.
“Sit down while my mother brings the coffee,”
Helene said as Mme. Durand left the room. “My sister,
Jeanne, will join us later, and possibly my brother,
Jacques.”
Mme. Durand returned carrying a tray with a coffee
pot and several cups. The conversation was in French
but Janine slipped into the language with ease. When Mme. Durand asked if she liked Paris, Janine launched into an enthusiastic response. “Of course! How could
one not love Paris? Paris has all of the advantages of a
large city with almost none of the disadvantages. And
the food! One cannot buy such marvelous fruits and
vegetables in the United States…. Oh yes, Madame
Durand, I love Paris.”
Helene and her mother laughed. At that moment a
girl of about fifteen walked into the room. “Hello. I am
sorry I am late,” she said to Janine in French. Then she
added uncertainly, “Do you understand?”
Janine smiled and answered in rapid French, “Yes.
You must be Jeanne.”
The group chatted for a while about Paris and places
Janine should visit. With three people talking in rapid
French, Janine began to have trouble understanding
everything that was said. Only Helene occasionally
remembered to speak slowly. They were laughing over
a story Janine had told when Helene noticed her
brother in the doorway. “Jacques!” she exclaimed
happily.
“I forgot you were having company today,” he said
stiffly. “Excuse me, I do not wish to intrude.”
“Come in,” Mme. Durand commanded. “Janine,
this is my son, Jacques. Jacques, this is Mademoiselle
Halonen, a friend of Helene and the sister of
Mademoiselle Rena Halonen. She is from the United
States.”
Jacques inclined his head slightly and said briefly,
“Enchante.”
Janine responded quickly, “I am delighted to meet
you. I can understand, however, that you might find
your sister’s friends boring.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You are Rena’s
sister? But you speak French!”
She was puzzled by his tone of voice. “Yes, but I
don’t speak it as well as Rena.”
“But no!” four voices said at the same time, then
stopped, embarrassed.
“You speak much better than your sister,” Mme. Durand said quietly after a moment.
Jacques sat down and asked for a cup of coffee.
“Your sister,” he said to Janine, “I am surprised she did
not come with you today.”
“Rena is in Switzerland for a few weeks writing an
article,” she explained.
“You will not feel lost being by
him and other times I almost dislike him.” When
Helene nodded, Janine continued, “And you? Have
you found anyone?”
Helene smiled wistfully and shrugged. “There is still
much time. I am younger than you, remember? But tell
me, what do you think of Mark?”
“I don’t know,” Janine confessed. “At first I disliked
him very much. Even now he often irritates me. But he
is more serious, more gentle with Rena than any other
boy friend she has had since Alex. I think he will be
good for her.”
“Perhaps. Yes, I think so. But will she be good for
him?” Helene persisted.
It was Janine’s turn to shrug her shoulders. “I don’t
know. He seems to think so. I had the impression you
didn’t like him, so why are you worried?”
“I dislike waste,” she replied cryptically. “Ah, there
is our house.”
Helene pointed to a large two-story stone house with
a red tile roof, red brick trim, and red wooden shutters.
Helene walked ahead, up the flagstone path, and rang
the bell. A woman, clearly her mother, answered the
door. She smiled at Janine without warmth. “Bonjour.”
“Je suis enchantee de faire voire connaissance,”
Janine responded in rapid French.
The woman looked startled. “Entrez, “she said.
Janine let Helene precede her. A moment later she
found herself in a lovely sitting room. Automatically
speaking in French, Janine complimented Helene’s
mother on the room, and Mme. Durand began to
visibly thaw.
“Sit down while my mother brings the coffee,”
Helene said as Mme. Durand left the room. “My sister,
Jeanne, will join us later, and possibly my brother,
Jacques.”
Mme. Durand returned carrying a tray with a coffee
pot and several cups. The conversation was in French
but Janine slipped into the language with ease. When Mme. Durand asked if she liked Paris, Janine launched into an enthusiastic response. “Of course! How could
one not love Paris? Paris has all of the advantages of a
large city with almost none of the disadvantages. And
the food! One cannot buy such marvelous fruits and
vegetables in the United States…. Oh yes, Madame
Durand, I love Paris.”
Helene and her mother laughed. At that moment a
girl of about fifteen walked into the room. “Hello. I am
sorry I am late,” she said to Janine in French. Then she
added uncertainly, “Do you understand?”
Janine smiled and answered in rapid French, “Yes.
You must be Jeanne.”
The group chatted for a while about Paris and places
Janine should visit. With three people talking in rapid
French, Janine began to have trouble understanding
everything that was said. Only Helene occasionally
remembered to speak slowly. They were laughing over
a story Janine had told when Helene noticed her
brother in the doorway. “Jacques!” she exclaimed
happily.
“I forgot you were having company today,” he said
stiffly. “Excuse me, I do not wish to intrude.”
“Come in,” Mme. Durand commanded. “Janine,
this is my son, Jacques. Jacques, this is Mademoiselle
Halonen, a friend of Helene and the sister of
Mademoiselle Rena Halonen. She is from the United
States.”
Jacques inclined his head slightly and said briefly,
“Enchante.”
Janine responded quickly, “I am delighted to meet
you. I can understand, however, that you might find
your sister’s friends boring.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You are Rena’s
sister? But you speak French!”
She was puzzled by his tone of voice. “Yes, but I
don’t speak it as well as Rena.”
“But no!” four voices said at the same time, then
stopped, embarrassed.
“You speak much better than your sister,” Mme. Durand said quietly after a moment.
Jacques sat down and asked for a cup of coffee.
“Your sister,” he said to Janine, “I am surprised she did
not come with you today.”
“Rena is in Switzerland for a few weeks writing an
article,” she explained.
“You will not feel lost being by
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