“Thank you,” I cut in, “I’ll bear the rest of that story another time.  I’m not sure it would exhilarate me much at the moment.  We’ll be off now, and I’ll do my best not to adorn you with a second scar.”

Without another word, Gotteland started the motor.  The critical eyes of the assembled chauffeurs pierced to my marrow, but I squared my shoulders, prayed my presence of mind to behave itself and not get stage fright; then—­noblesse oblige!—­we swept in a creditable curve to the door of the garage, and out in fine style.  Gotteland also tried to look unconcerned.  I think I must have seen this with my ears, as both eyes were fully occupied in searching a way through the surging current of street traffic, but I did see it.  I was pleased to find that I was the better actor of the two, for Gotteland’s attitude revealed a strained alertness.  He was like a woman sitting beside a driver of skittish horses, saying to herself:  “No, I won’t scream or seize the reins till I must!”

A sneaking impulse pricked me to take the easiest way, by the Rue de Rivoli, and across the Place de la Concorde, but I shook myself free of it, and with high resolve turned the car towards the Boulevards, determined that, if Molly won her bet, it should be well won.  A sailor steering a quivering smack towards harbour in a North Sea hurricane; an Indian guiding a bark canoe through the leaping rapids of a swollen river:  to both of these I likened myself as the dragon threaded in and out among the adverse streams of traffic.  The great crossing by the Opera was a whirling maelstrom; a policeman with a white staff, scowled when he should have pitied; I felt alone in chaos before the creation of the world.  As for Noah and his ark, not an experience could he have had that I might not have capped it before I reached the Bois.

If I have a guardian spirit, I am sure that to numberless other good qualities he adds the skill of an accomplished motorist; for if he did not get the car to Madrid, without a single scratch upon her brilliant body, I do not know who did.  I have no distinct memories, after the first, yet when we arrived at our destination, Gotteland generously complimented, and as I did not care to go into psychological explanations, I accepted his eulogium.  It was Jack, not Molly, who paid for the dinner at Madrid, and it was a good one.

Next morning early we started on our way again.  Jack driving, and I watching his prowess.  I was now as anxious to meet dogs belligerently inclined towards motors, as I had been to avoid them, but it was not until we were well past Fontainebleau that the chance for which I yearned, arrived.  Suddenly we came upon a yard of Dachshund wandering lizard-like across the road, accompanied by a pert Spitz.  The waddler prudently retired, but the Spitz, with all the disproportionate courage of a knight of old attacking a fire-breathing dragon, lanced himself in front of the car.  After all, what are dragons but strange, new things which we know nothing about and therefore detest?  This brave little knight detested us, and with magnificent self-confidence essayed to punish us for troubling his existence.