“The porteur says we shall be here all night,” Audrey persisted.
“Do you know French?”
“I learnt French at school, Winnie,” said the perfect widow. “I can’t understand every word, but I can make out the drift.” And Audrey went on translating the porter according to her own wisdom. “He says there have been dreadful scenes here before, when people have refused to open their trunks, and the police have had to be called in. He says the man won’t upset the things in your trunk at all.”
Miss Ingate gazed into the distance, and privately smiled. Audrey had never guessed that in Miss Ingate were such depths of obstinate stupidity. She felt quite distinctly that her understanding of human nature was increasing.
“Oh! Look!” said Miss Ingate casually. “I’m sure those must be real Parisians!” Her offhandedness, her inability to realise the situation, were exasperating to the young widow. Audrey glanced where Miss Ingate had pointed, and saw in the doorway of the custom-house two women and a lad, all cloaked but all obviously in radiant fancy dress, laughing together.
“Don’t they look French!” said Miss Ingate.
Audrey tapped her foot on the asphalt floor, while people whose luggage had been examined bumped strenuously against her in the effort to depart. She was extremely pessimistic; she knew she could do nothing with Miss Ingate; and the thought of the vast, flaring, rumbling city beyond the station intimidated her. The porteur, who had gone away to collect their neglected small baggage, now returned, and nudged her, pointing to the official who had resumed his place behind the trunks. He was certainly a fierce man, but he was a little man, and there was an agreeable peculiarity in his eye.
Audrey, suddenly inspired and emboldened, faced him; she shrugged her shoulders Gallically at Miss Ingate’s trunk, and gave a sad, sweet, wistful smile, and then put her hand with an exquisite inviting gesture on the smallest of her own trunks. The act was a deliberate exploitation of widowhood. The official fiercely shrugged his shoulders and threw up his arms, and told the porteur to open the small trunk.
“I told you they would,” said Miss Ingate negligently.
Audrey would have turned upon her and slain her had she not been busy with the tremendous realisation of the fact that by a glance and a gesture she had conquered the customs official—a foreigner and a stranger. She wanted to be alone and to think.