Also the trees grew up out of iron plates, which was uncomfortable,
though, no doubt, highly finished, and the flowers had a _cachet_ about
them which made one think of French bonnets. As we rolled into the Bois
it became evident that the guide had something special to communicate.
He raised his voice and coughed, in a manner which commanded instant
attention.
"Ladies--and genelmen," he said--he always added the gentleman as if
they were an after-thought--"you are mos' fortunate, mos' locky. _Tout
Paris_--all the folks--are still driving their 'orse an' carriage 'ere.
One week more--the style will be all gone--what you say--vamoosed? Every
mother's son! An' Cook's excursion party won't see nothin' but ole cabs
goin' along!"
"Can't we get away from them?" asked the serious person. It was
humorously intended--certainly a liberty, and the guide was down on it
in an instant.
"Get away from them? Not if they know you're here!"
At which the serious man looked still more serious, and sympathy for
him sprang up in every heart.
We passed Longchamps at a steady trot, and the guide's statement that
the races there were always held on Sunday was received with a silence
that evidently disappointed him.
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