Holding my breath, and trying to still the beatings of my heart, I creep close to the sleeping man, and lay my hand gently on the hat. He makes no sign, and the next moment the hat is under my capote. Now the revolver! I lay hold of the butt, and try to draw it from the gendarme's belt. It does not come out easily—I pull again—pull a second time, and am preparing to pull a third time, when the snoring suddenly ceases. Quick as thought, I shrink into my corner, breathe deeply and pretend to sleep. The gendarme rouses himself, mutters, and passes his hand over his head. Then he searches all about him, and, evidently alarmed by the loss of his hat, he sleeps no more. “Hallo, brother!” I say, “you seem to have lost your hat.” “I am afraid I have, sir,” he answers in a puzzled voice, at the same time scratching his head by way, probably, of keeping it warm. “You see what it is to sleep on the road, my friend! Suppose, now, I had slipped out of the carriage! Nothing would have been easier.” “Oh, but you never thought of such a thing, and I am sure you would not do it, sir.” “But why?” I ask. “Because I have done you no harm, and you do not want to get a poor fellow into trouble! You know yourself how severely gendarmes are dealt with who let their prisoners escape.” “Very well, brother, here is your hat which I found and hid—just to frighten you a bit.” Just then we reached another station, and the poor fellow as he put on his head-gear thanked me quite pathetically, as much for not running away as for restoring his property. THE CONVOY.