III

All day long, as the 'rapide' hurried us through the smiling wine country
and past the well-remembered chateaux of the Loire, we wondered how we
should find Paris--beautiful Paris, saved from violation as by a miracle!
Our first discovery, after we had pushed our way out of the dim station
into the obscurity of the street, was that of the absence of taxicabs.
The horse-drawn buses ranged along the curb were reserved for the
foresighted and privileged few. Men and women were rushing desperately
about in search of conveyances, and in the midst of this confusion,
undismayed, debonnair, I spied a rugged, slouch-hatted figure standing
under a lamp--the unmistakable American soldier.

"Aren't there any cabs in Paris?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, they tell me they're here," he said. "I've given a man a
dollar to chase one."

Evidently one of our millionaire privates who have aroused such burnings
in the heart of the French poilu, with his five sous a day! We left him
there, and staggered across the Seine with our bags. A French officer
approached us. "You come from America," he said. "Let me help you."
There was just enough light in the streets to prevent us from getting
utterly lost, and we recognized the dark mass of the Tuileries as we
crossed the gardens. The hotel we sought was still there, and its menu,
save for the war-bread and the tiny portion of sugar, as irreproachable
as ever.

The next morning, as if by magic, hundreds of taxis had sprung into