But there the car was, huge, glistening, unreal, incredible. And a
chauffeur gloved and liveried in brown, to match the car, stood by its
side, and the shopman was at the door, holding the Caprice of Roussel and
the old handbag ready in his hand.

"Here is Madame," said he.

The chauffeur saluted.

The car was closed.

"Will Madame have the carriage open or closed?"

"Closed."

Having paid the taxi-driver, Audrey entered the car, and as she did so, she
threw over her shoulder:

"Hôtel du Danube."

While the chauffeur started the engine, the shopman with brilliant smiles
delivered the music and the bag. The door clicked. Audrey noticed the
clock, the rug, the powder-box, the speaking-tube, and the mirror. She
gazed, and saw a face triumphant and delicious in the mirror. The car began
to glide forward. She leaned back against the pale grey upholstery, but in
her soul she was standing and crying with a wild wave of the hand, to the
whole street:

"It is a miracle!"