"Yes, mademoiselle?" It was positively the same man. He was carrying a bag of tools. "Can I give you a lift?" The words came out unthinkingly, for want of anything else to say. He waggled a hand in refusal. "Ah, it's not necessary, mademoiselle. "(How does he know I'm a mademoiselle?)"  I'm going to catch an auto. I'm going to Saint-Tropez, mademoiselle. " His shrug indicated that I couldn't possibly be going so far. What an agreeable coincidence, I thought... "Ah. One must be very careful, mademoiselle. You don't know me. "He smiled, and I smiled in return. He shrugged his shoulders and walked round the car to get in."You are very kind , mademoiselle."
"Not at all. " I was aware of the irony of refusing a lift to a stranger and deliberately offering a lift to another. He sat with his bag on his lap and his hands resting on it, silent and relaxed.I found myself self-conscious, nervous of changing gear clumsily. Open country stretched straight ahead...