Suddenly the loud cracking of a postilion's whip announced that there were other travellers behind them. Frédéric looked back, and saw a small berlin coming up at a gallop. The clatter drew rapidly nearer, indicating that the berlin was overtaking them and would soon pass them by. A cloud of dust enveloped them, but the road was so wide that there was no need for them to turn out. But just as they expected to see the berlin whirl by, it collided with their carriage; and the shock was so violent that the post chaise was overturned beside the ditch, into which Monsieur Ménard was thrown headlong, shrieking at the top of his voice. The berlin stopped. The postilion of the chaise reviled the other postilion, calling him fool and blockhead and drunkard, for running into him on a road where three carriages could easily pass. The other postilion limited his reply to a sneering laugh, which inflamed his confrère's wrath. Frédéric, who was not injured, went to Monsieur Ménard, to ascertain what his condition was. He proved to be more frightened than hurt; he felt himself all over, straightened his wig, and kept repeating that the fall would certainly upset his digestion. Meanwhile, the postilion of the berlin had dismounted; after exchanging a few words with his passenger, he, hat in hand, approached our travellers, who were still in the ditch, and, after apologizing for his awkwardness, said to them that Baron Ladislas Potoski, Palatine of Rava and Sandomir, requested permission to come in person to inquire for their welfare, and to offer them such assistance as was in his power. When he heard the postilion declaim the name and titles of his passenger, Monsieur Ménard scrambled out of the ditch, and removed from under his waistcoat one end of his ruff, which his fall had rumpled. "Tell your master that we appreciate his courtesy," said Frédéric; "but that it is unnecessary for him to put himself out; I think that the accident will have no serious results." "But there's something broken in our chaise," said Monsieur Ménard; "and we might avail ourselves of Monsieur le Palatine Pota--Poto--Potiouski's offer, to reach the next village." The tutor had not finished speaking, when the soi-disant Polish nobleman alighted from his berlin and walked toward them, with his hand on his hip, affecting a most dignified air and carriage. Frédéric looked up and recognized Dubourg; he was on the point of laughing outright, when his friend forestalled him by running toward him, exclaiming: "I cannot be mistaken! What a fortunate meeting! It surely is Monsieur Frédéric de Montreville!" And he threw his arms about Frédéric, who also feigned surprise and cried: "What! why! it is Monsieur de--Monsieur du----" "Baron Potoski!" whispered Dubourg. "Monsieur le Baron Potoski!"