cigar, he has made himself quite
comfortable, lying at full length, and is fast asleep. So am I soon.
When I awake, it is night; pitch-dark, and very cold. We are stopping
at some station. A stout Frenchman enters our carriage; not that there
is anything remarkable about his stoutness, as it seems to me that the
majority of middle-class and middle-aged Frenchmen, and Frenchwomen,
too, are all, more or less, of considerable corpulence.

[Illustration]

The new arrival recognises DAUBINET, and salutes him. DAUBINET warmly
acknowledges the recognition, and in a few moments they are engaged
in an animated conversation, one commencing his reply before the other
has finished his question, neither permitting the other to complete
a sentence, whether interrogatory or declaratory; so that, during the
greater part of their conversation,--which lasts till, thank goodness,
the stranger has to get out, which he does at the next station, and
disappears in the darkness,--I can only pick up a word or half a
sentence here and there, and, in a general way, wonder why they become
so earnest and emphatic about the most ordinary topics. For an English
listener, however, it is an excellent lesson in colloquial French;
only I cannot help wishing that they would take the "_tempo_" just a
little slower, and that their tone were not necessarily up to concert
pitch, in order to keep itself well above the running accompaniment
of railway-wheels, which seems to fit all modes of counting from two
to sixteen in a bar. At last the train stops, the dialogue becomes
jerky, our companion salutes us politely, wishes us "_bon voyage_" and
descends.

After his departure, I ask DAUBINET, "Who is your friend?" as I should
like to know the reason of DAUBINET not having introduced us. His
reply at once resolves all my doubts and difficulties on the subject;
it is simply, "Heaven knows! He is a nice fellow. I have met him
_quelque part. Ah! v'la!_" He rushes to the window. "Hi! hi! Guard!
Conducteur!" The Conducteur appears, and informs us that we descend at
the next station, and, after that, in another five minutes we shall be
at Reims.

And so we are. Reims at last! Not brilliant is Reims on this dark
night. There are several omnibuses and other vehicles waiting to
take the very few passengers who alight from the train, and who, it
appears, as a rule, prefer to walk. Having no baggage beyond a few
bags and a small portmanteau which travel with us in our c