Paris, really quick

There is a story behind every door, down every road and behind every pair of eyes… this one is mine. And it was running down the stairs to catch the metro in Paris. It was one in the morning, the metro stopped running at one thirty, our curfew was midnight and we were on the other side of the city. We were thrilled when the train approached- at least we had not missed the last train, and were the only ones on the line. Five crazy American teenagers, happily chatting away as the metro tunnels carried us under the city to our hotel. Everything was going so well. It had been a perfect day, the Lovue in the morning, a flea market and graveyard in the afternoon, beers at some crazy Aussie bar before taking a midnight stroll amidst baroque architecture. When the train finally got to our stop, we were all a little tired, and hurried up the stairs but once there we were met with iron bars. Oh my god they had already closed the gates. We were trapped in the metro. Okay so we run to another exit, iron gates there too. There are only so many exits out of a particular metro station, and when the third exit was also gated I started to get worried. On top of that, the metro, which is usually bubbling with people, was completely empty. All seemed lost, and we were going to have to sleep down in the metro that night, when we saw one lone Frenchwoman walking down a tunnel. We ran up to her, rapidly yelling our pleas, were trapped! We don't speak French! Help, Help! She did not seem to speak much English, other than 'okay', but our message got across…either that or she was having the same problem we were. She picked up an information phone and had a quick conversation with whoever was on the other side. After hanging up the phone, this poor Frenchwoman led us down the hall, around the corner, over the tracks till we reached a gate that wasn't locked.