"Ah ca! non! It can't be done!" he exclaimed in a fury. "How do you
expect me to earn my living if I have to go out of my way and wait a
century outside a store?"
"I will pay you for your time."
Still he refused to move. "Descendez, descendez!" he cried in an ugly
voice. I knew the next one would be just as bad, and besides I had no
time to lose. The hour of the train was approaching. Basely I resorted
to bribery: "Look here, Monsieur, I am American and I will pay you well.
Did you ever know an American to fail to make it worth your while?" He
considered, and looked me over appraisingly.
"It will be twenty francs then, Madame." This was too outrageous.
"Ah non," I said in my turn, but I laughed. "_Ecoutez_, do you know what
is in that box I am going to get? Toys for the little children of the
devastated regions. If I don't take it with me they will have nothing,
nothing at all for Christmas."
"Eh, what?" His old heart was moved. "_Pays devaste? C'est vrai? Bien,
Madame_, I will take you anywhere you wish." And he started the car. On
our way through traffic he related to me over his shoulder how his wife
and children had fled from Soissons while he was driving a _camion_ at
the front, and that their home was gone.
At the _Grand Bazaar_ Mademoiselle Froissart was waiting with the huge
crate of toys. It was hoisted onto the front seat beside the chauffeur,
who, far from grumbling at its size, was most solicitous in placing it
so that it would not jar.
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