"Listen," she said, putting her head on one side, "that's
a nightingale!" "Nonsense!" I said, "it's a sparrow;
you can tell by its high pitch." When we had walked on
a little farther, she stopped again and sat down on the bank
and, to my amazement, burst into tears. "For goodness'
sake pull yourself together, " I said. "You can't make a
scene here. The others will be here at any moment."
She sobbed on. "Oh why," she choked, "do you have to
spoil everything by being so logical? I suppose it's your
French blood." "All right, then," I said, "it was a
nightingale. I remember now there were two birds singing and I was listening
to the other one." "Of course it was a nightingale," she said. "How could it be
anything else when you have just proposed to me?"