The Motor Maid

								

"There is in France."
"I'm not surprised at queer ideas in France, or any other foreign
country, where I've always understood that anything may happen. Why
can't everybody be English? It would be so much more simple. But you're
not French, are you?"
"Half of me is."
"And what's the other half, if I may ask?"
"American. My father was French, my mother American."
"No wonder you don't always feel at home in life, divided up like that!"
she chuckled. "It must be so upsetting."
"Everything is upsetting with me lately," I said.
"With me too, if it comes to that--or would be, if it weren't for Beau.
What a pity you haven't got a Beau, my dear."
I smiled, because (in the Americanized sense of the word) I had one, and
was running away from him as fast as I could. But the thought of
Monsieur Charretier as a "beau" made me want to giggle hysterically.
"You say 'was,' when you speak of your father and mother," went on the
old lady, with childlike curiosity, which I was encouraging by not
going back to bed. "Does that mean that you've lost them?"
"Yes," I said.
"And lately?"
"My father died when I was sixteen, my mother left me two years ago."
"You don't look more than nineteen now."
"I'm nearly twenty-one."
"Well, I don't mean to catechize you, though one certainly must get
friendly--or the other way--I suppose, penned up in a place like this
all night. And you've really been very kind to me. Although you're a
pretty girl, as you must know, I didn't think at first I was going to
like you so much."
"And I didn't you," I retorted, laughing, because I really did begin to
like the queer old lady now, and was glad I hadn't dropped a pillow on
her head.
"That's right. Be frank. I like frankness. Do you know, I believe you
and I would get on very well together if our acquaintance was going to
be continued? If Beau approves of a person, I let myself go."
"You use him as if he were a barometer."
"There you are again, with your funny ideas! I shall remember that one,
and bring it out as if it were my own. I consider myself quite lucky
to have got you for a travelling companion. It's such a comfort to hear
English again, and talk it, after having to converse by gesture--except
with Beau. I hope you're going on to Italy?"
"No. I'm getting off at Cannes."
"I'm sorry. But I suppose you're glad?"
"Not particularly," said I.
"I've always heard that Cannes was gay."
"It won't be for me."
"Your relations there don't go out much?"
"I've no relations in Cannes. Aren't you tired now, and wouldn't you
like me to make you a little more comfortable?"
"Does that mean that you're tired of answering questions? I haven't
meant to be rude."
"You haven't been," I assured her. "You're very kind to take an
interest."
"Well, then, I'm not tired, and I wouldn't like to be made more
comfortable. I'm very well as I am. Do you want to go to sleep?"
"I want to, but I know I can't. I'm getting hungry. Are you?"