“Will you get out, then?” I retorted, turning to her quickly, “for without you there would only be seven of us.” The stifled laughter of the other travelers showed me that I had won over my audience. Three young men offered me their places, but I refused, declaring that I was going to stand. The three young men had risen and they declared that they would also stand, then. The stout lady called a railway official. “Come here, please,” she began. The official stopped an instant at the door. “It is perfectly shameful,” she went on. “There are eleven in this compartment, and it is impossible to move.” “Don’t you believe it,” exclaimed one of the young men. “Just look for yourself; we are standing up and there are three seats empty; send us some more people in here!” The official went away laughing and muttering something about the woman who had complained. She turned to the young man and began to talk abusively to him. He bowed very respectfully in reply, and said: “Madame, if you will calm down you shall be satisfied. We will seat seven on the other side, including the child, and then you will only be four on your side.” The ugly old man was short and slight. He looked sideways at the stout lady and murmured: “Four! four!” His look and tone showed that he considered the stout lady took up more than one seat. This look and tone were not lost on the young man, and before the ugly old man had comprehended he said to him: “Will you come over here, and have this corner? All the thin people will be together, then,” he added, inviting a placid, calm-looking young Englishman of about eighteen to twenty years of age to take the old man’s seat. The Englishman had the body of a prize fighter with a face like that of a fair-haired baby. A very young woman, opposite the stout one, laughed till the tears came. All six of us then found room on the thin people’s side of the carriage. We were a little crushed, but had been considerably enlivened by this little entertainment, and we certainly needed something to enliven us. The young man who had taken the matter in hand in such a witty way, was tall and nice-looking. He had blue eyes, and his hair was almost white, and this gave to his face a most attractive freshness and youthfulness. My boy was on his knee during the night. With the exception of the child, the stout lady, and the young Englishman, no one went to sleep. The heat was overpowering, and the war was of course discussed. After some hesitation, one of the young men told me that I resembled Mlle. Sarah Bernhardt. I answered that there was every reason why I should resemble her. The young men then introduced themselves. The one who had recognized me was Albert Delpit, the second was a Dutchman, Baron von Zelern or Von Zelen, I do not remember exactly which, and the young man with the white hair was Felix Faure. He told me that he was from Hâvre, and that he knew my grandmother very well. I kept up a certain