"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?"

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