It had occurred to Nick, just as the train pulled out of the station, that he hardly knew any French. At college, one of his professors was from Toulon and had often insisted that the French language was something that Nick should learn. Thanks to that rejection, the extent of his knowledge was nothing beyond "bonjour" and "au revoir." All he hoped was that someone in Paris knew enough English so that he would at least be able to find the hospital.
Nick slept most of the train ride. It was a very restless sleep, however, as he had a horrible nightmare. In it, he was walking down a hall that was painted white, and all but one door was painted black. It was painted a golden hue of yellow, the same color of Daisy's hair. Cautiously, he opened the door and was greeted by a very familiar parlor. It was the parlor of the Buchanan home. Standing at the window was a young woman who Nick recognized as Daisy.
"Do they miss me in Chicago?" Daisy asked.
"Daisy, where are-?"
Daisy turned to Nick. He was horrified to say the least. Daisy was literally dissolving into ashes as she reached for her cousin.
"I'm glad you've come, Nicky."
With those words, Daisy finally became dust and all that was left was her hand reaching out to Nick.
Nick woke with a start when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. It took him awhile to calm down and remember where he was. When he finally looked up, he saw the conductor staring down at him.
"Mr. Carraway, everyone's left the train."
It took a moment for Nick to register what the conductor was saying. He looked out the window and saw the train had stopped at a station. It seemed no different from the one he left, expect for a sign that was clearly written in French.
As he began to leave, Nick realized that he hadn't gotten his bags. The conductor had already reached for them and was holding them out. Nick thanked the conductor and left the train.
The disorientation from the nightmare began to diminish as Nick wandered around the station. The young writer had never been aboard before, and the only things he had seen from exotic locations were pictures of landmarks on postcards.
As far as he was concerned, this was a whole new world. While the scents of New York and Chicago were ones of grime, automobile gas, and liquor. Paris smelled of fresh bread from the station bakery and seasoned flowers that had just begun to bloom on bushes.
People dressed very differently to. He recalled a time when Daisy told him of how elegant and well-tailored clothing was in France. She didn't exaggerate. He wondered if blue and yellow were the favorite colors in Paris, because it seemed that those were the colors that everyone wore.
After his wonder was gone, he knew that he had to find someone who spoke English if he was going to get to the hospital. He began by asking strangers, but they either waved him away or stared at him like he had been born with three heads. Soon, he decided to rest on a nearby bench and think things through.
"Are you an American?"
The question took Nick by surprise. He looked up to see an elderly woman with a cart of flowers standing in front of him.
"Y-Yes, I am." Nick answered.
The woman chuckled. "Don't be surprised, Monsieur. At my age, I've seen many people come and leave France, and learned many languages."
"How did you know I was from America?"
"Because of how you look and where you're sitting." The woman's knees made a cracking sound as she sat beside Nick.
"I don't understand."
"I find that when most Americans come to Paris, particularly those who work for big business, are not able to speak French. When they are desperate, they ask anyone if they speak their language and if they're unable to find someone, they come and sit on this very bench to think about their situation."
"I'm trying to find someone to help me get to Saint Louis hospital."
"Why, I know St. Louis very well. When I was younger I tended to patients there. Such a small place then, only 40 beds and over 200 patients a month. Now, it's one of the finest hospice establishments here in Paris. Four stories, well-kept, and knowledgeable physicians are on staff."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Yes, I do, but...I hope you don't think poorly of me, monsieur, but what would an American want with a hospital in Paris?"
"My cousin moved to France with her husband and daughter. I got a letter from Daisy, my cousin, telling me she was at St. Louis' and that her husband left her there."
The woman gasped. "How terrible. Was she injured?"
"I don't know, she didn't say. I just know that she's scared and I'm the only person who's willing to be there for her."
"You seem to be a compassionate person, Monsieur. The hospital is not very far from here, so at least you'll be there before dark."
The woman gave clear instructions on how to reach St. Louis. Nick had a pretty good memory and mentally noted every direction that the woman gave, and those that he couldn't remember because of their length, he wrote down on a pad of papers that he took with him everywhere.
"Thanks for your help. I should be going."
Nick was about to leave, but the woman grabbed his arm gently. "You told me that your cousin was named Daisy?"
Nick nodded and the old woman walked over to her cart and plucked out a fresh, pink daisy which she handed to him.
"For your cousin, monsieur, and take my sympathies with it. I'm certain you have no Parisian money, so our conversation will be my payment."
Following the old woman's directions, Nick arrived at the hospital. It was just as she described, so that put Nick at ease. Though it took almost ten minutes, he finally found a nurse who understood some English and who lead him to Daisy's room.
He wasn't sure what to expect when he opened the door, but nothing had prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Daisy laid in bed, her gold hair that had grown was spread over the pillow, she had a look of weariness on her face as though she hadn't slept in years, and her face that once had been covered with makeup now wore no cover and gave her the appearance of someone much older.
None of this, had surprised Nick as much as the visible condition that Daisy was in. The reason behind her letter. Daisy was heavily pregnant.