"If it were only across the street," she went on, rising to the occasion and warming with the subject, "we would go in a carriage."
One approached at that moment. We motioned to it à la Mandarin, with our heads, our hands and arms being full. The driver raised his whip and pointed solemnly into the distance. We turned to gaze, seeing nothing but the heavens in that direction. When we looked back, he was gone. We should not like to affirm—we hardly dare suggest—we are sure of nothing but that he vanished from before our eyes.
A second appeared in the distance. We began in time. We pawed the air wildly with our umbrellas. The very satchels and wraps upon our arms nodded and beckoned. In serene unconsciousness the driver held to his course.
"Well!" I exclaimed, indignantly.
"I should think so," added Mrs. K., with emphasis.
"Is there anything peculiar, anything unusual in our personal appearance?" I asked, glancing down upon our dusty appointments. As we concentrated our energies and belongings for one final effort, a benignant countenance smiled out upon us from above a cipher. We were storming a private carriage!
The third attempt was more successful. The driver paused. We requested him, in English, to take us to "The Three Kings." He only stared and shook his head. We tried him with "Les Trois Rois." He seemed still more mystified.
"What can be done with people who do not understand their own language!" I exclaimed in despair.
We tried it again with our purest Parisian accent. An inkling of our meaning pierced his dull understanding. He rolled heavily down from his seat, and opened the door with the usual "Oui, oui." We entered and were driven away.
"Do you think he understood you?" queried Mrs. K.