in her mind.

"Whom did you take?"

She struggled with the confusing image of the Russian. Before she could
reply the other said: "There's to be an inspection of the cars this
morning. You'll have to get something done to your car!"

Outside in the yard the sun was gay upon the thinly frosted-stones, but
in the shadow of the garage the glass and brass of seventy or eighty
cars glowed in a veiled bloom of polish. Only the Rochet-Schneider,
which had been to Verdun, stood unready for the inspection, coated from
wheel to hood with white Meuse mud. There was nothing to be done with
her until she had been under the hose.

Out in the street, where the hose was fastened to the hydrant, the
little pests of Metz clustered eagerly, standing on the hose pipe where
the bursts were tied with string, and by dexterous pressure diverting
the leaks into gay fountains that flew up and pierced the windows
opposite. As the mud rolled off under the blast of the hose and left the
car streaky and dripping, the little boys dipping their feet into the
gutters and paddled.

Soaked and bareheaded, Fanny drove the clean car slowly back into the
garage and set her in her place in the long line.

Stewart, beside her, whispered, "They've come, they've come! They're
starting at the other end. Four officers."

Fanny pulled her tin of English "Brasso" from a pocket-flap, and began