U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [238]
-136-louder then fainter, then louder again. Eveline looked at the people around her. Nobody seemed alarmed or to
hurry their strol ing pace.
"Les avions . . . les boches . . . "she heard people saying in unstartled tones. She found herself standing at the curb staring up into the milky sky that was fast be-coming rayed with searchlights. Next to her was a fatherly-looking French officer with al kinds of lace on his kepi and drooping moustaches. The sky overhead began to
sparkle like with mica; it was beautiful and far away like fireworks seen across the lake on the Fourth. Involuntarily she said aloud, "What's that?" "C'est le shrapnel, mademoisel e. It is ourr ahnt-aircrahft cannons," he said careful y in English, and then gave her his arm and offered to take her home. She noticed that he smelt rather strongly of cognac but he was very nice and paternal in his manner and made funny gestures of things coming down on their heads and said they must get under cover. She said please to go to the hôtel du Quai Voltaire as she'd lost her way.
"Ah charmant, charmant," said the elderly French officer. While they had stood there talking everybody else on the street had melted out of sight. Guns were barking in every direction now. They were going down through the narrow streets again, keeping close to the wal . Once he pul ed her suddenly into a doorway and something landed whang on the pavement opposite. "It is the fragments of shrapnel, not good," he said, tapping himself on the top of the kepi. He laughed and Eveline laughed and they got along famously. They had come out on the riverbank. It seemed safe for some reason under the thickfoliaged trees. From the door of the hotel he suddenly pointed into the sky, "Look, c'est les fokkers, ils s'en fichent de nous." As he spoke the Boche planes wheeled overhead so that their wings caught the moonlight. For a second they were like seven tiny silver dragonflies, then they'd vanished.
-137-At the same moment came the rending snort of a bomb from somewhere across the river. "Permettez, mademoi-sel e." They went into the pitchblack hal of the hotel and felt their way down into the cel ar. As he handed Eveline down the last step of the dusty wooden stairs the officer gravely saluted the mixed group of people in bath-robes or overcoats over their nightclothes who were grouped around a couple of candles. There was a waiter there and the officer tried to order a drink, but the waiter said, "Ah, mon colonel, s'est defendu," and the colonel made a wry face. Eveline sat up on a sort of table. She was so excited looking at the people and listening to the distant snort of the bombs that she hardly noticed that colonel was squeezing her knee a little more than was necessary. The colonel's hands became a problem. When the airraid was over something went by on the street mak-ing a funny seesaw noise between the quacking of a duck and a burro's bray. It struck Eveline so funny she laughed and laughed so that the colonel didn't seem to know what to make of her. When she tried to say goodnight to him to go up to her room and get some sleep, he wanted to go up too. She didn't know what to do. He'd been so nice and polite she didn't want to be rude to him, but she couldn't seem to make him understand that she wanted to go to bed and to sleep; he'd answer that so did he. When she tried to explain that she had a friend with her, he asked if the friend was as charming as mademoisel e, in that case he'd be delighted. Eveline's French broke down entirely. She wished to heavens Miss Felton would turn up, she couldn't make the concièrge understand that she wanted the key to her room and that mon