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knew that he would be hurt to have
her offer. He was a very proud man, and a very large part of that
pride was wrapped up in his independence.
    “Bon jour, Chéri,” he said in his gravelly
voice, as he stood still long enough for her to kiss both his
cheeks. “You are going to be late getting home tonight, Chéri?”
    There was the care she had been thinking of
just moments before. He would check on when she would be home—he
would then wait up for her, she knew. “Oui, Monsieur, but not so very late—speaking of late,” she said, as she glanced at the
little lapel watch she wore on her jacket, “I must get to the shop!
Madame will be worried about me. Adieu!” she said, as she quickly
turned and continued her fast-paced walk to work.
    She turned around just long enough to wave to
him and see him smile in return and head for home. He was such a
dear man, she thought. Mssr. LeGard had spent a generous amount of
time and money having the interior of his house modernized. There
was a private bath for his quarters downstairs, as well as one in
his tenant’s quarters upstairs. Blair almost moaned out loud when
she thought of that little claw-footed tub that held enough hot
water and bubbles to relax her to the bone. And then there was the
little shower head that sprouted from the wall at the far end of
the tub. That certainly came in handy for days like today when she
was running late.
    A small kitchen area was installed in the
rented apartment as well. She was learning to cook but was still
not very good at it. At least the little kitchen gave her the
opportunity to practice. She was so thankful that she had found the
wonderful apartment and so close to where she worked. It was a
short four blocks to the shop.
    As she passed the street-side flower stall,
she smiled and waved at Claude, the vender. She made a mental note
that she wanted to pick out something nice for her dinner
companion. Since she was running late, she would have to do so on
her way to his apartment after her day’s work. She passed the other
vendor stalls, walking quickly, waving and shouting a greeting to
those who knew her.
    Still thinking of her dinner companion, she
smiled as she scurried to the shop where she worked. Uncle Roddy
was the happiest, most important part of her life. How she had
missed him while he had been away. It was unlike him to go away
without telling her where he was going, but she would do her best
to pry information out of him tonight. He never could keep things
from her for very long. She would just stubbornly and
unceasingly—with love and a smile—keep working on him until he gave
in and told all. How she adored him!
    She continued rushing along, trying to regain
some of the time she had lost day-dreaming at her window. Rushing
was not something she was prone to do unless running late. She much
preferred soaking up the atmosphere of Paris while leisurely
strolling to and from work, but there just wasn’t time for it this
morning.
    Then, the results of letting her mind wander
became all too real. The screeching of a horn and frantic screams
reminded her that the streets of Paris were not a safe place to
daydream. Bicycles and taxis—horse-drawn as well as the newer
motorized ones—sped through the neighborhood with little care to
lanes or people. She knew better than to walk without watching
where she was going. She managed to jump to the side just as the
driver of the taxi sped past her on the narrow street. Shaking his
fist from his open perch, he swore in a stream of gutter French
that, despite the vulgarities, still sounded like music to her
ears.
    Instead of being upset at the cabby’s rough
language, she just smiled. Laughing to herself, she thought that
the women cabbies, with their horse-drawn taxis or motorized
versions, had usually been more civil to passersby. She shook her
head as she continued down the road towards the shop. Ah, is this
progress, she wondered?
    Blair had been raised with English as