We all had to assemble in the saloon of the ship to present our passports, and when it came to my turn I was politely told to go to my cabin with two secret-service men, that they might question me further regarding my mission. One of these men was silent, but the other a very voluble, polite Frenchman. But even the visé by the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the French High Commission did not seem quite to satisfy him. The fact that I had been born in Germany evidently impressed him unfavorably. He asked me finally: “Do you intend to take any money out of France?” “On the contrary,” I replied, “here is a letter of credit, every cent of which is to be used on French orchestra musicians.” In corroboration I showed him the cable from the Ministère des Beaux Arts offering me the use of the Pasdeloup Orchestra, the conductor of which was M. Rhene Baton. The face of my secret-service man suddenly became wreathed in smiles. “Ah!” he said, “M. Baton! Why, before the war I used to play third horn in his orchestra in Bordeaux. Everything is all right.” With a bow he handed me back my passport, and at this point his silent companion suddenly gave me a most genial wink, the nationality of which could not be mistaken. I said: “You are American.” “Sure!” he answered, and thus I was enabled to land at last in France with colors flying. The next morning saw me in Paris at the little hotel “France et Choiseul,” to which I had always gone on my visits to Paris during twenty-five years preceding. I found the same courteous, smiling directeur, M. Mantel, to receive me. Even the old canary-bird, hanging in the courtyard, was still living, but either corpulence or old age had stopped his musical demonstrations.