When the French began tracing my movements, when they joined my present
activities to the fact that only by the skin of my teeth had I escaped a
charge of bringing German papers into Italy, there would be the devil
to pay. I acknowledged it; then--really, this brand-new, unfounded,
cast-iron trust of mine in Miss Falconer was changing me beyond
recognition--I recalled the old recipe for the preparation of Welsh
rabbit, and light-heartedly challenged the authorities to "catch me
first." I had a disguise; if I bore any superior earmarks my leather
coat obliterated them; and I could drive; even Dario Resta could not
have sniffed at my technic. Better still, my French, learned even before
my English, would not betray me. As nurse and as _mecanicien_, we stood
a fair chance in our masquerade.
I might have to pay my shot, but I was enjoying it. This was a good
world through which we were speeding; life was in the high gear to-day.
The car purred beneath us like a splendid, harnessed tiger; the spring
air was fresh and fragrant, the country charming, with here a forest,
there a valley, farther off the tiled, colored roofs of some little
town.
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