"I can't believe we're leaving you girls in Paris," said Mrs. Bridge, pushing back her thick red hair.

"It's not as if we're abandoning them," Mr. Bridge said. "We'll be back in two weeks, after our conferences in the south of France are over. We agreed that Paris would be the best place to meet afterwards, and I'm sure the girls will enjoy staying here."

"But we just got here and I can't help worrying. We don't know very much about Mme Georges, even though Aunt Mary's friend's daughter stayed with her last year. Maybe the girls should come with us," said Mrs. Bridge.

"What would we do at a conference on dead writers?" asked Robin Bridge. "Or one on library science. Really!" She looked at her twelve-year-old sister, Jo, who was hopping from one foot to another. "I'm fourteen. I won't get into any trouble."

"And neither will I," said Jo. "After all, we'll be with a bunch of kids and Mme Georges. I hope it will be fun."

"Aunt Mary said her friend's daughter had a good time at Mme Georges's and Elise Nicholson raved about it, " said their mother. "I want you to take advantage of Paris with all its culture. The Louvre! The Musée D'Orsay! So much to see! Maybe you'll even learn a little French. I'm sorry you both chose to take Spanish instead."

"Yes, Mom," said Robin, but her thoughts leaned more towards seeing some French department stores and shopping for new clothes to show off back home in New Jersey.

"Maybe there'll be a mystery for us to solve like we did in London," said Jo, her brown eyes lighting up at the thought. Two weeks before, when the family was in London, Robin had gotten the wrong suitcase by mistake at the airport, and the girls had had many adventures as a result.

"No mysteries," said their father firmly. He looked around at the huge Gare du Nord, one of Paris's several major railway stations, and the bustle of people hurrying under its high glass ceiling. "There'll be plenty to see in Paris."

Jo sniffed the warm summer air. "And smell. Why does Paris smell so funny?"

"That's the smell of cigarettes and coffee," said Mrs. Bridge. She looked at her watch. "Mme Georges should be here by now. Our train leaves soon. I hope we don't miss it."

Robin glanced at the crowds of people dragging suitcases and rushing up the escalators to find their trains. She was particularly struck by a woman dressed in a black suit. The woman had a streak of white running through her dark hair and wore a thick gold necklace and earrings.

"I bet that's Mme Georges," Robin thought to herself. The woman seemed to be coming their way.

"Ah, M. Bridge, Mme Bridge," a high voice behind Robin said. "I am Mme Amélie Georges."

Robin turned to see a tall, thin woman dressed in tan pants and a tan shirt greeting her parents. The woman tossed back her dark blonde hair and extended her hand to Mr. Bridge.

"And this must be Robin and Jo," she said. Robin stared at her, fascinated. While not as distinguished looking as the woman with the white streak in her hair, Mme Georges was definitely good looking. Her hair was straight and shiny and cut one side longer than the other in a style Robin had never seen. She wore a white sweater tossed over her shoulders and a large diamond ring twinkled on her finger. On her feet were open-toed brown shoes with the highest heels Robin had ever seen.

"Your girls are charming," said Mme Georges to Mr. and Mrs. Bridge. "I am sure we will have such a good time together."

"Are there lots of other kids?" Jo asked.

"Not so many now in July. There is my niece Sylvie, and Mario, you will enjoy him, he is so amusant -ah, how you say?-funny, and then there is Marc, you will like him. Oui, and Sophie."

"And I'm sure the girls will see lots of educational sights," said Mr. Bridge.

"But of course," said Mme Georges, "we are in Paris. Par example, tomorrow we will see something exciting, La Course des Garçons de Café."

"What is that?" asked Mrs. Bridge.

"It's the race of the garçons, uh, waiters. Every year they race carrying trays that are filled with glasses and plates. The real race is held in June, but this year there is a special race for charity in July. It is very amusing to see."

Mrs. Bridge looked doubtful, and Mr. Bridge shook his head.

"Ah, but after that, we go to the Musée D'Orsay," said Mme Georges. "And of course there is the Louvre. We try to show the children the real Paris."

Mr. Bridge looked as if he were about to say something, when Mrs. Bridge gave a small shriek. "Our train--there up on the display board. I don't know--girls..."

"Mom, we'll be fine," said Robin firmly.

Mme Georges tactfully turned away as Robin and Jo hugged their parents and said good-bye.

"Remember, you can always call us in Cannes," Mrs. Bridge said. "You've got the phone number of the hotel and the address."

"Everything will be fine, Mom," said Robin. "You got pictures of the place we're staying, you got recommendations, everybody who stayed with Mme Georges thought it was cool. Stop worrying!"

She grabbed her sister's hand and they began dragging their suitcases across the crowded floor of the train station.

"This way, mes petites," said Mme Georges. She took them out a side door and into a line of people waiting for taxis.

"I thought France would look different," said Jo, "but everyone looks normal."

"Yes, that is a lesson of travel," said Mme Georges. "People are people wherever one goes."

With that, she opened the door of a small white cab and motioned to the girls to get inside. The taxi driver put their suitcases in the trunk and they sped off.

Honk, honk! Honk, honk!

"What's that noise?" asked Robin.

"Les gendarmes. The police," Mme Georges replied. She seemed lost in thought as they raced past old stone buildings and cafés where people lounged outside in the hot July sunshine, drinking coffee at tiny tables.

Finally, the cab pulled up at a small, white building on a quiet side street.

"And here we are!" said Mme Georges. Inside, the house was cool and dark. Mme Georges rang a small bell she picked up from a little table.

"Nicolette!" she called.

"Je viens! Je viens!"

"She is coming," Mme Georges said to the girls.

A plump woman dressed in black with a white apron tied around her waist struggled up a back staircase.

While Mme Georges explained who the girls were to Nicolette, Robin and Jo looked around. The hall they were in led to a small room with several chairs and a big, red sofa. A TV stood in the corner across from a big fireplace.

"I am sorry," said Mme Georges. "The others are out now. But Nicolette will show you to your room and you can wash up for dinner. Tonight, we go to a very famous restaurant, Le Procope. It is the oldest restaurant in Paris."

"What will we eat?" asked Jo. "Do they have pizza?"

Mme Georges laughed. "Pizza! Absolutely not! You are in Paris, you must eat like Parisians. Perhaps onion soup, perhaps snails."

"Snails!" Jo shrieked.

"Mme Georges is just teasing you, aren't you?" asked Robin.

"A little. But we do eat snails. They are very good with butter and garlic."

Jo still looked horrified as the girls climbed the stairs to their room. Nicolette opened the door, showed them where the bathroom was down the hall, and gave them each a key to their room.

The girls looked around the bedroom. There were white curtains that billowed out against pink wallpaper. A small white desk and chair and two wooden dressers rested on deep pink carpeting.

"This is better than London," said Jo. "But we still have to run down the hall to the bathroom."

"At least I know how to use the shower now," said Robin. Her struggles with the handheld shower in London had soaked her and the bathroom.

As the girls unpacked, they talked about what they wanted to do in Paris.

"I'd like to shop," said Robin. "Do you think we'll get the chance?"

"I don't know," said Jo. "I'm not sure how strict Mme Georges is going to be."

"She doesn't look very strict," said Robin. "Maybe she'll give us some time off on our own."

"That'd be great," said Jo. "I want to do something fun. I don't want to spend my time in boring old museums."

"We promised Mom and Dad we'd go to the Louvre," said Robin.

"Oh, yeah," said Jo, "but they can't expect us to spend all our time in museums. And after all, they're not here, so we can have some say in how we spend our time."

"I don't know about that," Robin said.

"We'd better get ready for dinner. It's six-thirty," said Jo.

"What do you think the other kids will be like?" asked Robin.

"Let's go and find out," said Jo. "They must be back by now."

The girls washed and changed, and then walked down the steep stairs to the main hall. Voices and laughter drifted towards them from the room with the fireplace.

Robin and Jo peeked in. A small blonde girl was seated in front of the TV, laughing at a cartoon show. A dark-haired boy lounged on the red sofa, reading a book, while a girl with glasses and brown hair played checkers with an older boy with blond hair.

"Hello," said Robin, shyly.

Jo bounced into the room. "Hi, I'm Jo. Who are you?"

"Hello, Jo," said the girl with brown hair and glasses. "My aunt said you and your sister were coming today. I'm Sylvie."

"Oh, I guess you're Mme Georges's niece," said Robin.

"Yes, I help my aunt out from time to time, like now. I should be studying but my aunt needs me."

"Let me introduce you," she said. "This boy is Mario. He's from Italy." She pointed to the dark-haired boy reading the book. "Mario, this is Robin and Jo."

"Enchanté." Mario put his finger in the book to mark his place and smiled at the girls.

"Parlez-vous français?" he asked.

"No, they don't speak French," said Sylvie. "Mario speaks no English," she said to the girls.

Robin thought of mentioning the little French-English dictionary she had brought with her, but decided not to.

"This angel is Sophie," said Sylvie, indicating the small blonde girl. "She is the youngest here. Her parents are in Egypt on business, and she is staying with us for a week."

The little girl smiled at them and then turned back to her TV show.

"And I am Marc," said the blond boy. "I work part-time here and go to school in Paris during the year."

"Are you in high school?" Robin asked.

"No, I am in my first year at university," Marc said.

"I'll be going into my first year in high school," said Robin. "I'm fourteen."

"I am eighteen, Marc is nineteen, and Mario is fifteen. Sophie is ten," said Sylvie.

"Ready for dinner?" Mme Georges swept in. She had changed into a black dress, pearls, and black open-toed shoes with huge heels. "We can walk. It's just across the way here."

She led the group out of the house, up the block, across the Boulevard St. Germain, and down a narrow side street.

Robin looked at the little storefronts as they passed. Waiters beckoned from restaurants draped in red awnings. Couples sipped coffee and smoked cigarettes at little tables in front of cafés. A rich, buttery smell came from a bakery. When Robin looked in the window, she saw sugared pastries and fruit tarts as well as marzipan animals parading across the shelves.

"Voilà!" Mme Georges stopped in front of a small restaurant and ushered them in. Inside the place was dark and quiet. The walls were painted a brownish red and a red velvet curtain hung from one wall.

A stout woman dressed in black showed them to their table and called, "Jules! Jules!"

Robin sat down between Jo and Marc. Sylvie sat across from them, next to Mario and Sophie. Mme Georges arranged herself at the head of the table.

A waiter came scurrying up and stopped short when he saw Mme Georges. Robin could see his face turn pale.

"Bon soir," he said.

"That means 'good evening,'" said Marc to Robin.

"Well, let us order," said Mme Georges to her group. "I think steak frites for everyone, yes?"

"That's not some kind of snails, is it?" asked Jo, wrinkling her nose.

"No, no, calm yourself," said Mme Georges. "It is steak with fries. You have that in the U.S., don't you?"

Jo heaved a sigh. "Of course," she said.

The waiter smiled sympathetically at Jo and took the order. He then leaned over to Mme Georges and said something quietly. Robin heard it, but pretended not to notice.

As he served them crusty bread, and then the hot steak and crisp golden fries, his hands shook. Robin smiled at him reassuringly, and he smiled faintly back.

But after she had finished eating, when he whisked the thick white plate away, his hands trembled so the plate crashed to the floor.

"Pardon," the waiter murmured.

"Do you have such bad waiters in America?" Mme Georges asked, sneering.

"Anyone can make a mistake," Robin said, instantly feeling sorry for the waiter. He glanced up at her while the stout woman scolded him, saying loudly in English for their benefit, "You must be more careful, Jules. Tourists do not like clumsy waiters."

Marc, who sat next to Robin, paid no attention, keeping up a steady stream of chatter. He told Robin about the terrible tests he had had to take to get into the university, and how he had had to devote every day of an entire year to studying for them.

"Is it like that in the U.S.?" he asked.

"Not really," Robin said. "There are tests we take to get into college, but we don't spend a year studying for them."

As they left the restaurant, Robin said, "I forgot something." She ran back to Jules, who was standing by the door, and said, "Don't worry. I know you weren't clumsy. I drop things all the time."

Jules smiled at her and bowed. Then Robin ran back to the group. Strolling back to the house, Marc continued to discuss the differences between French and American schools, while Jo ran on ahead with Sophie.

"But perhaps it is worth it to study the way we do--"

"Excuse me," Robin broke in, a bit desperately. "But I heard a French expression today. What does 'va t'en' mean?"

"It is a not very polite way of saying 'go away,'" said Marc. "Did someone say that to you?"

"Oh, no," said Robin. She didn't tell him the waiter had said it to Mme Georges.

"I won't tell Marc the other French word I heard the waiter say," Robin thought to herself. She didn't need a translation for that one. It was much the same in English: "dangereux" or "dangerous."