He replied, with what he thought a seductive smile, "I should think Paris
would be a very attractive place for a pretty woman like yourself."
How could I make him understand that I had come for a passport and not for
conversation?
At this moment I confess I began to feel dreadfully nervous, seeing the
powerless situation in which I was placed, and I saw in imagination
visions of prison-cells, handcuffs, and all the horrors which belong to
revolutions. I heard the sonorous clock in the tower strike the hour, and
realized that only minutes, not hours, had passed since I had been waiting
in this dreadful place.
"Monsieur," I began once more, "I am rather in haste, and would thank you
if you would give me my passport."
Upon which he took Mr. Washburn's so-much-looked-at card, scrutinized it,
and then scrutinized me.
"Are you La Citoyenne Moulton?"