o afford a piano, or
whatever it is the multi-millionaire munition-man buys without a
quiver. I might even get the missus a fur coat.

Every living soul in Paris seemed obsessed with the idea of going
somewhere else; and the chances of the stranger within their gates
approached those of an icicle in Hades, as our friends across the water
would say. Finally, in despair, Draycott rushed into the road and
seized a venerable flea-bitten grey that was ambling along with
Monsieur, Madame, and all the little olive-branches sitting solemnly
inside the cab. He embraced Madame, he embraced the olive-branches;
finally--in despair--I believe he embraced Monsieur. He wept, he
entreated, he implored them to take him to the Gare de Lyon. It was
imperative. He would continue to kiss them without cessation and in
turn, if only they would take him and his belongings to the Gare de
Lyon. He murmured: "Anglais--officier anglais"; he wailed the mystic
word, "Mobilisation." Several people who were watching thought he was
acting for the cinematograph, and applauded loudly; others were
convinced he was mad, and called for the police.

But Monsieur--God bless him!--and Madame--God bless her!--and all the
little olive-branches--God bless them!--decided in his favour; and
having piled two suit-cases and a portmanteau upon that creaking cab,
he plunged into the family circle.

It was very hot; he was very hot; they were very hot; and though
Draycott confesses that he has done that familiar journey between the
two stations in greater comfort, he affirms that never has he done it
with a greater sense of elation and triumph. The boat train to
Marseilles, he reflected complacently; if possible a bath first;
anyway, a sleeper, a comfortable dinner, and----

"Parbleu, M'sieur; la Gare de Lyon c'est fermee." Madame's voice cut
into his reflections.

As in a dream he extricated himself from to-night's supper and three
sticky children, and gazed at the station. They were standing six deep
around the steps--a gesticulating, excited mob; while at the top, by
the iron railings, a cordon of soldiers kept them back. Inside,
between the railings and the station, there was no one save an odd
officer or two who strolled about, smoking and talking.

Mechanically he removed his baggage and dumped it in the road;
mechanically he re-kissed the entire party; he says he even kissed the
flea-bitten grey. Then he sat down on a suit-case and thought.