The American actress, who had ended up in the rear, could no longer stand the disgrace of it and, determined to take the offensive, was sprinting to the head of the parade. It was as if a runner in a five-kilometer race, who had been saving his strength by hanging back with the pack, had suddenly sprung forward and started overtaking his opponents one by one.

The men stepped back with embarrassed smiles, not wishing to spoil the famous runner's bid for victory, but the women yelled, Get back in line! This is no star parade!

Something was in the air. People were slowing down and looking back.

Suddenly a Frenchwoman, a professor of linguistics, grabbed the actress by the wrist and said (in terrible-sounding English), This is a parade for doctors who have come to care for mortally ill Cambodians, not a publicity stunt for movie stars!

Undaunted, the actress pushed on, a suite of five photographers and two cameramen in tow.

The actress's wrist was locked in the linguistics professor's grip; she could do nothing to pry it loose.

Hold it, please, a cameraman called out and knelt at her feet.

What the hell do you think you're doing? she said (in perfect English). I've been in a hundred parades like this! You won't get anywhere without stars! It's our job! Our moral obligation!

The actress gave a long look into his lens, the tears flowing down her cheeks.

Merde said the linguistics professor (in perfect French).

The American actress understood and burst into tears.