ess. An antediluvian car, which
was recognizable by its rearward protuberance as something archaic, was
stationary on the hill; two ladies sat on an extraordinarily high seat
behind like a throne, and a mechanic was slouching towards a smith's
forge by the roadside. One motorist, of course, must always offer help
to another--to pass a stranded car would be like ignoring signals of
distress at sea; besides, one of the ladies looked young and seemed to
have a charming figure. So, having passed them, I pulled up and went
back.

The ladies said "America" to me as plainly as if they had spoken. They
were most professionally got up, the elder so befurred and goggled that
I could see only the tip of her nose; the younger with a wonderfully
fetching grey fur coat, a thing that I believe women call a "toque," and
a double veil, which allowed only a tantalising hint of a piquant
profile and a pair of bewildering grey eyes. They--or rather the younger
one--met my profferred help with a rather curt refusal, but the voice
that uttered it was musical to a point rare among the American women of
the eastern States, and these were New York or nowhere. There was
nothing for me to do except retire; but Almond, looking back as we sped
away, said, "Why, sir, blowed if they haven't got those three smiths
pushing them up the hill!" From which I argued that Beauty was very
jealous for the reputation of her car. This is the end of Chapter I.

Chapter II. opens at Suresnes, some days later. I was starting for
Cannes, and had just crossed the bridge when, in the yard of a _garage_
on the left-hand side at the foot of the hill, I detected again Beauty
in Distress--the same Beauty, but a different Distress. There was the
high and portly car, with Beauty perched up in it alone--Beauty in the
attitude appropriate to Patience smiling at Grief. Almost before I knew
what I did, I turned my car into the yard and pulled up near her, making
an excuse of asking for Stelline, though, as a matter of fact, Almond
had filled up the tank only half an hour before at the Automobile Club.
The manager of the _garage_ told me that Beauty's car was stranded with
a broken crank. Now Almond had caught sight of her _mecanicien_ the
previous time we met, and knew him for a wrong un in London; therefore
when I heard he had gone off to Paris with five hundred francs to buy a
new crank, I thought the situation serious. So, despite the former snub,
I again offered my service