You'd only to wait two minutes."
They looked crestfallen, while she held the cigarettes away from them as
a nurse holds sweets from a naughty child.
"I could only get two packets. I can give you one. I'm sorry, but I
promised to get cigarettes for some people in Metz."
The thin man brightened, and took the big carton of Camels with delight.
"They're good, those!" he said knowingly to the others. "How much were
they, mademoiselle?"
"Five francs twenty the carton."
"Is it possible? And we have to pay...."
By his tone he made it seem a reflection on the Americans. Why should a
country be so rich when his had been devastated, so thinned, so difficult
to live in? Fanny thought of the poor huddled clients who had sat on the
floor of the car during the snowstorm. It had been a bitter journey for
them.
After all--those rich, those pink and happy Americans, leather-coated
down to the humblest private, pockets full of money, and fat meals three
times a day to keep their spirits up--why shouldn't they let him have
their cigarettes?
"You can have this carton, too, if you like," she said, offering it.
"I'll manage to slip in to-morrow morning."
He thanked her, delighted, and they went back to the hotel.
The problem of the kindness of the Americans, and her frequent abuse of
it to benefit the French, puzzled her.
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