Only last night, only twenty-four hours ago, she had been preparing for
the dance; and only last night she had said to Julien ... What had she
said to Julien? What had he said to her? Again she was deep in a reverie
that had lasted all day, that had kept her warm, had fed her.

She was almost asleep when a man's voice woke her, and she found a car
with three Americans drawn up beside her.

"I guess this is too bad," said the man who had woken her. "We passed
you this morning on our way into Nancy, and here you are still looking
as though you had never moved. 'Ain't you had any food since then?"

"I haven't been so very hungry."

"Not hungry? You're sure past being hungry! Lucky we've got food with us
in the car. Pity we've got to hurry, but here's sandwiches and sandwiches,
and cakes and candy, and bits of bunstuff, and an apple. And here's a
cheese that's running out of its wrappin'. When's your show coming to
fetch you? 'Ain't you coming home along with us?"

"They won't be long now. Oh, you are good...." Fanny's hunger revived as
she took the food, and now she was waiting ungratefully for them to be
gone that she might start on her heavensent meal.

"Good-bye, ma'am," they cried together.

"Good-bye," she waved, and as their car passed onwards she climbed up on
to the mudguard and spread the rug over her knees.

The slow night grew out of nothing, expanded, and nearly enveloped the