"I'm sorry to have to tell you," said he in his nice voice, "that your man appears to be a scoundrel. He hasn't been to Le Sage's, nor to another place which I tried. I'm afraid he has gone off with your money, and that your only hope of getting it will be to track the fellow with a detective."
"I don't want to track him," I said. "I never want to see him again, and I don't care about the money. I'll engage another chauffeur. There must be plenty in Paris."
As I said this he had rather a curious look on his face. I didn't understand it then, but I did afterwards. "I'm afraid you'll find very few who understand your make of car," he said, "which is German, and-er-perhaps not up to the very latest date."
"I can believe anything of it," said I. "But now the crank's broken, and--"
"I've taken the liberty of bringing another, which we took out of a similar car," broke in the man. "The proprietor of the garage across the way thinks he can put it in for you; if not, I can help him, for I once drove a car of the same make as yours, and have reason to remember it."
I burst into thanks, and when I had used up most of my prettiest adjectives I asked how long the work would take. He thought only a few hours, and my car might be ready to start again in the afternoon.
I clapped my hands at this; then I could feel my face fall. (Funny expression, isn't it?-almost as absurd as I "dropped my eyes"; but I think I did that too.) "How lovely!" said I. And then, "But what good if I can't get a chauffeur?"
The man's face grew red-not a bricky, ugly red; but as he was very brown already, it only turned a nice mahogany colour, and made him look quite engaging. "If you would take me," he said, "I am at your service."
I never was more astonished in my life, and I just sat and stared at him. I was sure he must be making fun.