There were eight of us in the compartment all that night--a Frenchman and four small daughters, on their way to Geneva, Tibbitts and ourselves. Tibbitts, who could not speak a word of French, except "_Der bock_," which means in English "two beers," and "_Combien?_" which is "how much," entered into a cheerful conversation with the Frenchman, who could not speak a word of English. It was vastly entertaining. Tibbitts would make a beautiful remark in English, to which the Frenchman would reply, "Oui, Monsieur." Then the Frenchman would make an elaborate observation on something or other in French, to which Tibbitts would reply, "Oui, Monsieur," and so on all night. It was not pleasant for those trying to sleep, but it seemed to amuse the two participants. At Macon, in the morning, the Frenchman followed Tibbitts around the platform, attempting by gesture and a volley of Parisian French, to make something known to him. Tibbitts came to me alarmed. "What is 'Oui Monsieur' in English?" "It means simply 'Yes, sir,' or 'Certainly, sir.'" "Did you know what that Frenchman was saying last night?" "Not a word." "I said 'Oui, Monsieur' to everything he said. Suppose he asked me to lend him a hundred francs! I am in a fix about it. I can't go back on my word, and if he asked me that I certainly promised to do it, and if I have to do it I shall have to borrow it of you." Mr. Tibbitts' fears were unfounded. A hotel-porter who could master a trifle of English, came between them, and found that the Frenchman had been so impressed with the urbanity of my Oshkosh friend as to ask him in the night to take care of his four children to Geneva, that he might return by the next train to Paris, and Tibbitts had said "Oui, Monsieur" to the proposition, and he had the babies on his hands all the way. [Illustration: THEY WERE LIVELY CHILDREN.] They were lively children, and made the poor fellow much trouble, and Tibbitts heaved a prodigious sigh of relief when he turned them over to their waiting guardian at Geneva. He immediately asked for the French word for "No," and vowed solemnly to ever after use that word when in conversation with Frenchmen on railroads or elsewhere. [Sidenote: ON THE WAY TO GENEVA] The day broke dull and cheerless, but as soon as the sun came up the clouds were driven away, and the whole country was bright and beautiful. The road passes through some of the best wine districts of France, and nearly all of the little towns through which the train whirls with only a long shriek of the whistle, are devoted to the handling of wine, although in most of them there is a church or two and some monuments, just enough to make it a show place.