"The doctor of the expedition, M. Delange, who was seated at the other end of the carriage, on the opposite side to me and in the corner, became suddenly restless and began to move about just as a person does, who, after having for a long time tried to go to sleep, gives it up as a bad job. The noise he made, breaking upon the general silence, roused me from my drowsiness. I half-opened my eyes, and to my extreme discomfort, saw that the young doctor had got up from his seat and was coming towards mine. What on earth does he want, I thought. And I confess that I was considerably alarmed, although, lest I should wake my companions, I kept my nervousness to myself. "All the same, I assure you, I was quite prepared to give my gentleman a warm reception, for, however flattering to one's vanity it may be to be kissed in one's sleep, I do not think that a railway carriage is at all a proper place for such demonstrations of admiration. "However, when he came close to me, and I was quite prepared to give him a sounding box on the ears by way of manifesting my displeasure, M. Delange stopped, reached up to the netting, and took therefrom his carpet bag. "So I had only my own sensitiveness to blame, and, however I may have flattered myself as to the power of my own fascinations, I was obliged in the end to confess to myself that the young doctor really wanted merely his carpet bag. "He had scarcely resumed his seat when he put his bag on his knees and, after rummaging about in it for some moments, wound up by taking out a small packet, wrapped in white paper, and looking at M. de Morin, who was seated opposite to him and at my feet. "The dear painter was enjoying a sound, peaceful, and snoreless sleep—the sweet, silent slumber of a child or a woman. It was quite pleasant to see him given up so thoroughly to repose, and I should never have been cruel enough to awake him, but M. Delange, less considerate than I, suddenly seized M. de Morin by the arm and shook him impatiently. "'What's the matter? What do you want? Are we there already?' said the painter, sitting up and opening his eyes, still heavy with sleep. "'No, my dear fellow," replied M. Delange. 'We are very far from being there, especially if you mean Africa, for we are not more than three hours from Paris. It is exactly 10.48 p.m. We have just passed Tonnerre, and are going ahead full steam for Dijon!' "'Well, then, why on earth did you wake me up?' said M. de Morin, crossly. "'Why did I wake you up?' repeated M. Delange, with a smile on his face. 'How about our contract?' "'What contract?'