s passionately addicted to it.'

"'I am sorry not to have the same addictions as the author of Faust.
Make me an omelet.'

"In a few minutes back came the waiter with the omelet. It looked
uncommonly nice, and I was uncommonly hungry. Nevertheless, I could
not swallow the first mouthful.

"'What the devil have you put into your omelet? An omelet should be
made with butter, eggs, salt, and pepper.'

"'Certainly, sir. It _is_ made with butter, eggs, salt, and pepper.'

"'And what else?'

"'A little flour.'

"'And besides?'

"'A little cheese.'

"'Go on.'

"'Some saffron.'

"'And then?'

"'Cloves, nutmeg, and a little thyme.'

"'Enough, enough! Take away your omelet.'"

The master of the hotel, who is an intelligent personage, now makes his
appearance, and M. Dumas at last finds that, by ordering a dinner _a la
Francaise_, he can get something eatable. Encouraged by this success, he
ventures, when bedtime comes, to petition for a bed in which a Frenchman
can sleep. This requires a little explanation, which will be best given
in his own words.

"In France we are pretty much accustomed to sleep in a bed; that is
to say, on a couch consisting of a frame some three and a half or
four feet wide, and some six or six and a half feet long. On this
frame or bedstead we place two or three mattresses and a feather
bed, a pair of sheets, a counterpane, a pillow and bolster; we then
tuck in the edges of these coverings, the person for whom the bed is
intended slips in between the sheets, and if his health is good and
his conscience clear, and he has not been drinking too much green
tea or strong coffee, he goes to sleep. In a bed of this description
any body can sleep, whether German, Spaniard, Italian, Hindoo, or
Chinese, unless he makes up his mind not to do so. But in Germany
things are very different. A German bed is composed as follows:--

"First, a bedstead two or two and a half feet wide, and five to five
and a half feet long. Procrustes must decidedly have been a German.
On the bedstead they place a sack of shavings, on the sack of
shavings an enormous feather bed, and then a sheet, shorter and
narrower than the feather bed, and which we should call a towel.
Upon this sheet or towel comes a quilted coverlet of the same size,
and a sort of cushion stuffed with feathe