The French official explained to Miss Patricia that if she would kindly drive to a freight office at some distance away and show her bill of lading, there was a possibility they could tell her whether or not her shipment from the United States had ever reached France.
On this excursion Sally positively declined to walk. Moreover, it was growing late and Miss Patricia was herself obliged to acknowledge that the distance was too great. They therefore secured a cab in which Miss Patricia agreed that she was willing to risk her own life, although reluctant to trust Sally’s.
Finally, after a little uncertainty on the part of their driver they reached the desired office.
Here, Miss Patricia found some one who appeared willing to listen, first to her complaints, and then to make the necessary effort to help her out of her difficulty.
But this effort, Sally Ashton soon discovered, was to require some time. She was now feeling a little exhausted, the air in the express office was heavy and filled with strange odors, the office which was near the Seine was in a crowded down-town section of the city.
Sally touched Miss Patricia on the arm.
“Aunt Patricia, I want to get out into the fresh air for a few moments. You won’t mind if I wait for you outside?”
And seeing that Sally looked pale and a trifle harassed, and also appreciating her former patience, Miss Patricia nodded, without ceasing her conversation with the French clerk.
The view beyond the office door was more entertaining than Sally had anticipated on their arrival. One had another outlook on the Seine. Barges and other large river boats, loaded with supplies, were moving slowly up or down. Queer people in odd picturesque costumes were standing here and there in little groups talking to each other in the animated Latin fashion.
Of course there were occasional soldiers; they were everywhere in Paris.