"Yes, and there's nothing you can do about it, so you might as well accept it. But as soon as we arrive I'll jump out, and the cabby can bring you wherever you want to go."

"Let go of me."

"What?"

"You're holding my hands."

"Wha-? Oh yes, of course. Sorry."

"How did you know I was going to the Gare d'Austerlitz?"

"I didn't know." He pressed his palm to his head. "This is turning into the worse night of my life."

Giving him an oblique glance that searched for signs of insanity, she was silent for a moment before asking, "What made you choose me as your kidnap victim?"

"Kidnap vic-? Oh, for the love of— Listen. I thought you were my sister. What I mean is, I thought this was my cab. They all look alike, after all. And if it hadbeen my cab, then you'd have been my sister. It isn't and you aren't, but that's not myfault. If it's anyone's fault, it's the fault of that ill-mannered oaf."

"...I see. Ah... what ill-mannered oaf was that?" she asked, keeping her tone light and conversational, because she thought it would be best to humor him until she could find an opportunity to get away.

"The ill-mannered, stubborn, pompous oaf in front of me in the queue! If he'd had the common decency to let me pick up my tickets, I wouldn't have been late, and I wouldn't have had to rush, and I wouldn't have jumped into the wrong cab, and I wouldn't be explaining all this to you now."

"I... see..."

"If only he'd ordered his tickets in advance, like I did. But no. No, no, no. The superstitious boob doesn't realize that we're on the eve of the Twentieth Century. Do you know what he told me?"

"Ah... no. No, I don't. What didhe tell you?"

"He said that using the 'phone would make you deaf. And he calls himself a doctor."

"My brother!"

"What?"

"That was my brother! He's a doctor."

"He's also an ill-mannered, stubborn, pompous-"

"I was waiting for him while he went to get our tickets."

"My sister was waiting for me."

"I must have dropped off. I've been so worried that I haven't slept properly for two nights."

"Neither has my-"

"Now I see what happened. You've made a terrible mistake."

"I toldyou it was a mistake, but you wouldn't listen."

"Why should I listen to a self-avowed brute and brigand?"

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, no, it's too late to beg my pardon. We have to decide calmly and intelligently what to-"

"Oh, my god! My sister is in the clutches of that pompous, stubborn, imbecile of a-"

"My brother may be stubborn-even pompous upon occasion-but at least yoursister won't be obliged to defend herself against unwanted advances."

"Advances?"

"When I woke up, you were holding me in your arms. Do you deny it?"

"I was merely protecting you."

"From what? Brutish brigands?"

"The cab was lurching through the traffic. I didn't want your sleep to be disturbed."

"So you protected me by making sure that when I woke, I'd find myself in the arms of a strange man? A verystrange man."

"Look, I am sorry if I upset you, but I haven't got time to chant my apologies all evening long. Listen, mademoiselle. Your brother is following us. I saw him jump into what I now realize was mycab, and no doubt he— Ohmygod, he's got my sister! And they're sure to arrive at the station too late to catch the train! I'm going to make it only by the closest of shaves, if at all. My sister's going to be furious. But at least your brother will be able to take care of you. All you have to do is wait at the cab rank for him."

"Where will you be?"

"On the train, of course. I absolutely must get to Cambo-les-Bains by noon tomorrow to stop my poor dunderhead of a brother from falling into the clutches of a calculating temptress. A dreadful error that would destroy his future, leave him heartbroken and— But there's no time to explain. When you see my sister, tell her what happened, and tell her to return to my flat and await news from me. She'll be all alone there, I'm afraid. She knows no one in Paris. But that can't be helped. Will you do me that favor?"

"In return for all the favors you've lavished on me? Like kidnapping me, for instance? And stealing my brother's cab? And crushing my hands in your brutish grasp?"

"I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me. I'm much too strong for that."

"Then what's all this about crushing you in my brutish grasp?"

"Just a-a sort of metaphor."

"Metaphor? That wasn't a metaphor; it was a barefaced lie."

"Well, maybe it— So what? Who are you to decide what is a metaphor and what is not? Do you think you're the only one who has to save someone from making a dreadful mistake that will ruin her future?"

"Wh-? Surely that's a non sequitur."

"And I suppose that's even worse than a metaphor? Don't you realize that my brother and I were going to Cambo-les-Bains, too?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you that the 'calculating temptress' you're intending to save your brother from is my poor love-sick sister! And the heartless cad who's trying to trick my sister into a foolish marriage is your guileful, brutish brigand of a brother. It would appear that brutish brigandry runs in your family!"

"My brother is no brigand."

"And my sister is certainly no temptress."

"Well, I intend to make sure she doesn't get her 'poor love-sick' hooks into my brother!"

"And I mean to save her from the clutches of your 'poor dunderhead' of a brother!"

"Good!"

"Very good indeed!"

They withdrew into their separate comers and stared furiously out their respective windows. She absentmindedly drew his coat over her knees against the cold draughts that flowed in through the rattling window; then, suddenly realizing what she was wrapping around herself, she pushed the despised rag from her and let it slide onto the floor.

Snow melting from the top of the cab rippled over the panes, causing soft slabs of buttery gaslight from shop windows to alternate with harsh rectangles of cold, white, electric light from the newly installed street lamps. The young man took mental note of this lighting effect. He might use it in his directions to a set designer some day. He pulled out his watch, fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for a matchbox, struck a light, and groaned. "I'll never make it!" he muttered miserably.

"Serves you right," she said.

He despised the mean-minded sort of people who say, 'Serves you right'. By the light of the match, he saw her face for the first time, and her intelligent, somewhat haughty eyes returned his frank examination, but their color was a fascinating— Ouch! He dropped the match onto his coat, which he then snatched up and slapped until he was sure it was not burning.

"I see you take your frustration out on inanimate things as well," she said.

He lit another match, and now he could see the terrible danger facing his brother. If the sister also had that creamy complexion and those violet-blue eyes... his poor brother!

The match went out, and they experienced a moment of blindness until their eyes dilated again to the darkness of the cab, which swayed and jolted around a corner onto the Pont Sully that crossed the river at the upstream tip of the Ile St. Louis. The harsh glare of the bridge's new electric street lamps played over them in rhythmic succession, then, with a lurching turn to the left, they were following the Left Bank quay towards the Gare d'Austerlitz.

As the driver was making a daring pass, the fiacre's wheel got caught in the track of the horse-drawn omnibus line, jouncing the passengers into one another's arms. They immediately recoiled into their corners, whence they regarded one another with ruffled indignation and no small amount of suspicion.