And I get a bit indignant until Malone tells me that the Frenchman means "busy."
Then I am told that there is one young journalist still waiting who has been here all day, refusing to go until I have seen him.
I tell them to bring him in. He comes in smiling in triumph.
And he can't speak English.
After his hours of waiting we cannot talk.
I feel rather sorry for him and we do our best. Finally, with the aid of about everyone in the hotel he manages to ask:—
"Do you like France?"
"Yes," I answer.