He called for the Corporal du garde who placed both of them under arrest and marched them into a room where many officers were seated. Among them, Paul discovered the one he sought, who also immediately recognized him and advancing asked him how he came to be in Paris. Paul told him he had come to Paris simply through curiosity and if necessary to take a hand in anything that was going on. Paul and his friend were then introduced to the officers present. One of them, a gray headed old fellow said:
"Well boys, I think we will find something for you to do; but as this is a quarrel among Frenchmen, I don't like the idea of any foreigners being mixed up in it. However as you are here we might as well use you."
Paul and his companion looked at each other with perplexity for they did not really know what they were about to join. Turning to his friend the Marechal de Logis, he told him in English of their adventures of the night before and asked him if this was the same army as the other. The officer laughed heartily and translated the story for the benefit of the others, who all joined him in his mirth. The gray haired man who had first spoken to Paul and who was evidently an officer in high rank said in pure English:
"Sons, I think you have done enough for France and it is best for you to leave Paris and go home."
Then calling an orderly he gave instructions that they should be taken to the rail road station and sent to Havre. Before leaving, he presented each with twenty-five francs and instructed the orderly to secure them transportation to the seacoast. The orderly who accompanied them to the station was an enthusiastic admirer of everything American. He had a brother in Quebec, which city he thought was about fourteen miles outside of New York. So vehement was the hospitality he had pressed on Paul and his companion that when he entered the station his military dignity was lost and nothing remained but his idea of treating his American friends to the best in the land. He placed them in a first class compartment against the remonstrance of the guard, whom with drawn sabre, he defied to eject them. As the train rolled out of the station cries of "Vive la France," "Vive l'Amerique," were exchanged.
At Rouen, then held by the Germans who had military guards all around the station, the train was detained for over half an hour owing to an accident. While waiting, Paul and his companion left the station to procure some tobacco. They passed a German soldier on guard at the gate who did not intercept them. On returning, the sentinel stubbornly refused them permission to enter notwithstanding the fact that they showed him their pass-ports and transportation; but they could not persuade him either in French or English to let them pass. At this moment a German officer arrived, when Paul advancing told their situation in French. Taking the transportation card from Paul's hand he showed it to the sentinel, and after many harsh sounding remarks in German he struck him with his open hand across the face. The soldier, still presenting arms to his superior officer showed no sign of resentment; not even a flush mounted to his cheek. The officer passed them in and Paul remarked to him:
"No French soldier would have stood that treatment."
"Possibly not," answered the officer, "but German soldiers know what discipline is."
On arriving in Havre, Paul found many volunteers placed in the same position as himself. All were waiting a chance to return to America; most of them looking to the French government to assist them home. While waiting for these orders that were very tardy in coming, Paul made the acquaintance of a Danish Count who had served all through the war. His quiet, gentle manners and evident embarrassment at being surrounded by the rough crowd of adventurers and soldiers of fortune with whom Fate had thrown him, appealed to Paul's sympathy, He said to the Count: "Come with me and I will take care of you." They secured lodging together on the upper story in a house in the Rue de l'Hospital for the princely consideration of one franc a week, which the landlady informed them must be paid in advance. With the air of a millionaire, Paul paid the rent for the first week and cheerfully intimated to the landlady that they would require the best room in her house as soon as their remittances arrived. Their room was a miserable affair in the attic, lit up with one small window. The scant bed clothes often compelled them to sleep in their uniforms of a cold night. When they reached their apartment they compared notes and found that all the money they had between them amounted to eight francs and seventy five centimes, (about $1.75).
"We must sail close to the wind now, Count," said the ever cheerful Paul to the despondent Dane. "With good management we can live high on a franc a day."