The crowd began to mutter "foreigner." In a minute they would have declared that I was a German. But I had an inspiration.
"I want to go to the American Embassy," I told the Frenchman. "If you are going that direction why not come with me? We can share the cab."
I have always maintained that a Frenchman, no matter how excited he is—and when he is excited he is often almost impossible—will always listen to reason if you can get his attention. My proposition was so entirely unusual that immediately he listened, then smiled and stepped into the cab, motioning me to do the same.
"L'Ambassade Americaine," he bellowed to the chauffeur, and as we drove away he was accepting a cigar from my case.
He explained both his excitement and his hurry. When the mobilization call came it would be necessary for him to join his regiment on the first day. I wanted to tell the chauffeur to drive to his home first, but he would not allow this, and when we arrived at the Embassy it was actually with difficulty that I forced upon him the payment for the taxi up to that point.
I was soon in the famous private room of conference and confidence. The Ambassador, as usual, was sitting with his face to the open window, and smoking a cigarette.
I placed my hat and stick upon the desk and seated myself in silence. We remained quiet for quite a full minute. Finally Mr. Herrick said, with a short laugh:
"Well, there does not seem anything more to talk about, does there?"
"No," I replied, "we seem to be at that point. There isn't anything even to write about."