Even he half appreciated the sense of humor involved; though
his dignity did not permit a visible acknowledgment thereof.
_Madame la vendeuse de cafe_, I shall remember you for more than a little
while.
Having thus consummated breakfast, my guardian suggested a walk. Agreed.
I felt I had the strength of ten because the coffee was pure. Moreover it
would be a novelty to _me promener sans_ l50-odd pounds of baggage. We
set out.
As we walked easily and leisurely the by this time well peopled streets
of the vicinity, my guard indulged himself in pleasant conversation. Did
I know Paris much? He knew it all. But he had not been in Paris for
several (eight was it?) years. It was a fine place, a large city to be
sure. But always changing. I had spent a month in Paris while waiting for
my uniform and my assignment to a _section sanitaire_? And my friend was
with me? H-mmm-mm.
A perfectly typical runt of a Paris bull eyed us. The older saluted him
with infinite respect, the respect of a shabby rube deacon for a
well-dressed burglar. They exchanged a few well-chosen words, in French
of course. "What ya got there?"--"An American."--"What's wrong with
him?"--"H-mmm" mysterious shrug of the shoulders followed by a whisper in
the ear of the city thug.
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