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eyes to take him away from this mixed society
into which he had been thrown by sheer
misfortune and by no fault of his. He nearly
suffocated with emotion when he realized his luck and
was put into a cab and sent to the hôtel in
Faubourg St. Germain. The Countess was going
anyhow to the Magasins du Louvre to try on a
new hat. She said she wanted to go on foot.
Then she said she wanted a cab and I volunteered
to take her there in my carriage. She hesitated
a moment—what will people say if they see me
driving about in his carriage?—and then accepted
with bonne grâce. But was it not out of my way
to drive her to the Louvre; not in the least, for I
had nothing to do just then. What is in that
parcel, asked the Countess with feminine
curiosity. I was just going to tell her another lie
when Tom, his mission as sole guardian of the
precious parcel being at an end, jumped to his
usual place on the seat by my side. The parcel
split open and the head of a doll popped out.
“Why on earth do you drive about with dolls,
who are they for?”
“For the children.”
She did not know I had any children and seemed
almost offended at my reticence about my private
affairs. How many children had I got? About
a dozen. There was no way of getting out of it,
the whole secret had to come out.
“Come along with me,” I said boldly, “and on
the way back I will take you to see my friend
Jack, the gorilla in the Jardin des Plantes. It is
just on our way.” The Countess was evidently
in her very best mood that day and up to
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