Seeing his deliverance so near, my old friend obeyed at once.
The motor, stupefied by our actions, slowed down.
"Get out of the way!" yelled the chauffeur. "Are you crazy! Out or
I'll run you down!"
"Never! Look here. I don't care where you're bound for, but you've got to make room for me and a dying man in your machine. It's Melun—or nothing!"
"Wounded! Heaven, the Germans! We're caught! Go on, quick, quick, I say!" shrieked the woman.
The chauffeur made a movement as though to skid past us.
"No, you don't," I said, once again producing my trusty Browning.
The woman hid her face in her hands.
"Now then, either you can make room for us or I'll blow off your tires and you'll have to get down and walk like all the rest of us!"
My gray-headed driver was jubilant.