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He looked boyishly hopeful and she shook her head.
    “ Non. Okay?” Her French accent on the single word sounded endearing and he smiled as Arthur watched the exchange, unable to speak up in his limited French. Something about the girl left him speechless. “No …” She repeated the gesture Sam had made to indicate eating and shook her head.
    “Why?” He struggled to find the word in French. “ Pourquoi? ” He suddenly glanced at her hand in panic. Maybe she was married. Maybe her husband was going to kill him. But there was no ring there. She seemed awfully young, but maybe she was a widow.
    “ Parce que. ” She spoke slowly, wondering if he would understand, but almost certain he wouldn't “ Je ne veux pas. ”
    Arthur spoke up then in a whisper.
    “She says she doesn't want to.”
    “Why?” Sam looked hurt. “We're nice guys. Only lunch … food …” He made the eating gesture again. “… café … okay? … Five minutes?” He held up five fingers on one hand. “Okay?” He held out both hands, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness and peace, and she looked suddenly weary as she shook her head. She looked as though she had had years of this, years of soldiers harassing her, and strangers in her homeland.
    “No German … No American … No … No café … No …” She did the now familiar eating gesture again.
    Sam folded his hands in supplication and for a minute he looked as though he might burst into tears. But at least she was still standing there, listening to him. He pointed to himself and then to Arthur. “North Africa … Italy … now France …” He pretended to shoot, he pantomimed Arthur's wounded arm, and looked at her imploringly, “One café… five minutes … please …”
    She seemed almost sorry this time when she shook her head and then started to turn away. “ Non … je regrette …” And then she walked away quickly as they stared after her. Even Sam didn't follow her this time. There was no point. But when Arthur started to walk away, Sam wouldn't follow.
    “Come on, man, she's gone, and she doesn't want to see us.”
    “I don't care.” He sounded like a disappointed schoolboy. “Maybe she'll change her mind when she comes back.”
    “The only thing that'll be different is that maybe this time she'll have her father and seven brothers come and knock our teeth out. She told us no, and she meant it, now let's not waste all day standing here. There are a million other women in Paris, dying to show their gratitude to the liberating heroes.”
    “I don't give a damn.” Sam wasn't moving. “This girl's different.”
    “You're damn right she is.” Arthur was finally getting angry. Very angry. “She told us to take a hike. And personally, I intend to follow her advice, no matter how good her legs are. Are you coming, or not?”
    Sam hesitated for a moment and then followed him, but with obvious regret. And wherever they went that day, all he could think of was the beautiful girl withred hair on the rue d' Arcole with the green eyes that blazed fire and sadness. There was something about her that haunted him, and after dinner that night, he left Arthur at the table with three girls, and quietly slipped away to walk slowly down her street, just to be near her. It was a crazy thing to do, and even he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to see her one more time, even if only from a distance. It wasn't just her looks, there was something more about her. Something he couldn't define or understand, but he wanted to know her … or at least see her…. He had to.
    He stopped at a little cafe across the street, and ordered a cup of the bitter coffee that everyone drank black and without sugar, and sat staring at her doorway, and then watched in amazement as he saw her walking down the street with her string bag still full of books, and walk slowly up the steps to her house and stop there for a moment, looking for a key in her coin purse and glancing over her