Soubise was already on the step when she was pushed aside violently by a railway porter, who slammed the door, and before I was fully aware of what had happened the train had disappeared. My bag had gone, and our trunk also. The trunk had been placed in a luggage van that had been unhooked from the train which had just arrived, and immediately fastened on to the express now departing. I began to cry with rage. An official took pity on us and led us to the station-master. He was a very superior sort of man, who spoke French fairly well. I sank down in his great leather arm-chair and told him my misadventure, sobbing nervously. He looked kind and sympathetic. He immediately telegraphed for my bag and trunk to be given into the care of the station-master at the first station. “You will have them again to-morrow, towards mid-day,” he said. “Then I cannot start this evening?” I asked. “Oh no, that is impossible,” he replied. “There is no train, for the express that will take you to Homburg does not start before to-morrow morning.” “Oh God, God!” I exclaimed, and I was seized with veritable despair, which soon affected Mlle. Soubise too. The poor station-master was rather embarrassed, and tried to soothe me. “Do you know any one here?” he asked. “No, no one. I do not know any one in Cologne.” “Well then, I will have you driven to the Hôtel du Nord. My sister-in- law has been there for two days, and she will look after you.” Half an hour later his carriage arrived, and he took us to the Hôtel du Nord, after driving a long way round to show us the city. But at that epoch I did not admire anything belonging to the Germans. On arriving at the Hôtel du Nord, he introduced us to his sister-in-law, a fair-haired young woman, pretty, but too tall and too big for my taste. I must say, though, that she was very sweet and affable. She engaged two bedrooms for us near her own rooms. She had a flat on the ground floor, and she invited us to dinner, which was served in her drawing-room. Her brother-in-law joined us in the evening. The charming woman was very musical. She played to us from Berlioz, Gounod, and even Auber. I thoroughly appreciated the delicacy of this woman in only letting us hear French composers. I asked her to play us something from Mozart and Wagner. At that name she turned to me and exclaimed, “Do you like Wagner?” “I like his music,” I replied, “but I detest the man.” Mlle. Soubise whispered to me, “Ask her to play Liszt.” She overheard, and complied with infinite graciousness. I must admit that I spent a delightful evening there. At ten o’clock the station-master (whose name I have very stupidly forgotten, and I cannot find it in any of my notes) told me that he would call for us at eight the following morning, and he then took leave of us. I fell asleep, lulled by Mozart, Gounod, &c.