Arrived at the gates of the golf club we were ashamed at first to go in. We were tired and dusty and blown to pieces, and the paths and hedges looked too neat and dressy for words. But we did hop out and walk up to a gentle-looking gray-bearded Frenchman with a black straw hat, and asked if we could go in. He said he was enchanté to have Americans come to the club, and took us himself up to the first tee. I looked wistfully at the little piles of sand and thought of the many hours spent under an electric light between four walls of fish-net on Seventy-second Street, and longed for my driver. We wandered up to some fir trees in the rough about halfway to the first green and flopped down on the ground. We were both pretty tired and didn't know where we could spend the night, or what, in fact, the next move would be. Marje said that she couldn't go another step until she had a nap, and as we didn't know when we should see a bed, we crawled under the low branches of the fir tree, spread our coats over us, and went to sleep. It was twenty minutes of four when we woke up. We jumped out of the bushes and so startled a man who was driving off that he sliced his shot and the ball went whizzing between our heads. It was surprising to see men caddies in battered French uniforms--probably réformés for tuberculosis--and also young husky girl caddies toting around armfuls of clubs. These were the only reminders of war, for on the veranda were Americans and French people in white tennis shoes and blazers playing bridge. You can't imagine the thrill of seeing good-looking people wearing clothes and jewelry, sitting around and calling out "No trumps"--after what this winter has been in Paris. My, but we felt good after our nap! We met our friend with the black hat and he took us inside the clubhouse. He showed us most especially the mural decorations--scenes in Fontainebleau--which were from his brush. One of the silver loving-cups in the glass case had "Compliments of Charles Crocker" on it, and Marje discovered that he is a relation of hers in Fitchburg. We became very chummy with graybeard, and I mentioned in passing that we couldn't find a place to stay. He gave us his card--M. Paul Tavernier--and said that he knew an old couple who had a lovely house which they rented furnished for the summer, beginning July 1st. Just now they rented rooms overnight and would serve the petit déjeuner. It was nice of him to recommend us, not knowing us at all, but he must have known we were nice, we looked so innocent and unattractive. It seems funny that over here when I'm traveling I spend my time trying to look utterly unattractive and I meet with dazzling success; but such a difference as it makes when choosing hats!