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Paiis streets at nlgM, we -went to bed.
I was at the steamship office at
eight the next morning with an Amer
ican crowd which, as Dulcinea would
say, "is always so good-natured,"
waiting for the doors -fco open.
"What time do you open up" called
a fat American to the clerk within.
The former was in a fever of excite
ment, mopping his bald head.
'Tleuf heures," answered the clerk
"What, never?" shouted the fat
man, his eyes popping from his head.
That day was devoted to passports.
When I found that no checks were
being cashed that morning, I staked
all my hopes of leaving Paris on the
few dollars which my friend had ex
tracted from the American Express,
and we set out for the American em
bassy to get passports out of Paris,
which, after I got it, was never .even
We walked for hours in search of
the embassy, and en route, picked up
another woman and a Spanish man,
both bound for the same elusive des
tination. The American crowd was,
as usual forming lines. This time, it
was for numbers which would entitle
the holders to a place in another line,
where passports were being doled
"But I cannot wait," said I; "I'm
leaving France today to catch the
"Then go right up," said the man,
and I went right up and signed some
thing in French and bore it away. No
money was being given out at the
embassy ; only passports.
It being two o'clock, we decided to
eat and not try to get to the big meet
ing of Americans at the Grand HoteL
We sank into chairs by small tables
in front of a tiny cafe, we two, the
other woman, and the Spanish man.
The latter could talk French, and he
learned from the shopkeeper that we
could buy bread from a shop up the
street and butter from a shop down
the street, and he would give us beer.
So we separated. The Spaniard came ,
bacfe waving a two-foot loaf of bread
and a handful of coins. -A
"I told them it was bread for a
woman who had not touched food -this
twenty-four hours," said he ex-
ultantly, "and they changed my fifty
franc note. We must have cheese
now to celebrate."
Thus it was we broke our fast. And ;
then the luck changed. The walk
back to the Rue Scribe was many
weary miles, but when I got there the
Mercantile Marine cashed one of my
two checks for me.
Now all that was left to do was r
to get the passport signed by the po- ;
lice and to buy a railroad ticket to
the port from which a boat was most -likely
to leave. And all the time we .
were closing our ears to the rumors ,
and alarms and facts which swirled .
around us, that no trains ran; that -no
boats sailed; that starvation,
awaited us within a week. As one
woman said to me, cornering me sud- .
denly on the street: t
"It is this way: We Americans will
just have to get together and hire-t
rooms and get any food we can. We
won't be able to get beds, but we can ;
use a blanket each, or our steamer
She passed on. I straightened my
hat and did the same. Akin to herl
was the woman who pointed her fin-
ger at me threateningly when I cried.
I was waiting in one of the crowds z
for one of the doors to open. And'
each story I heard in Paris was worse ,
than the last So I leaned my Amer- ,
ican Panama against the unopened
door and shed a few American tears, r.
Immediately I became the center off
the crowd. i
"And what are you crying for,
young woman? What are you crying
for?" demanded a woman, waving
her finger in my face. I could not ,
tell her why, and I suppose she will i
That night we saw aeroplanes
German, they said hovering over
Paris, and we realized again thata
Paris was not simply a place for: