“I have taken the villa for a month—our holiday. The Duvals and the Duponts occupy villas near by; and we shall play croquet together, and be amiable and happy. I, your stout friend, _le gros_ Durand, will wear white shoes and no waistcoat, and I shall also smoke many pipes and enjoy long siestas under my own tree.” (What an idyllic picture—the large citizen Durand asleep in a vast cane chair, under a tree!) “But to-day, _mon vieux_, what anxiety, what chaos, what despair, in our Paris home! We are distracted, we are in peril of losing our reason, so terrible, so sinister is the work of moving to Marie-le-Bois. The packing, the labelling, the ordering of the railway omnibus (it is engaged for ten o’clock precisely, but will it—O harassing question—arrive in time?), the emotion of the children, the ferocity of my wife, the deafness of superannuated Amélie—all these miseries have left me as weak as an old cat. You, who have travelled, will appreciate the agony of the situation. No more can I say, for I hear my wife crying: ‘Hippolyte, Hippolyte, what are you doing? You must be mad to write letters in such a crisis.’ “Adieu, therefore. Here, very cordially, are the two hands of, “GEORGES AUGUSTE HIPPOLYTE DURAND.” Excellent, simple M. Durand! From his letter one would suppose that he is about to make the long journey from Paris to the Pyrenees; and that his luggage is proportionately considerable and elaborate. But, as a matter of fact, Marie-le-Bois lies humbly on the outskirts of Paris. A slow train from the St Lazare Station covers the distance in thirty-five minutes. And once arrived there, one clearly perceives, from the top of a small hill, the Sacré Cœur, the dome of the Panthéon, the sightseers (almost their Baedekers) on the Triumphal Arch! Only five and thirty minutes distant from Paris—and yet Madame Durand is “ferocious,” her husband is as “weak as an old cat,” and the omnibus has been ordered one hour and forty-seven minutes in advance, to drive over the mile that separates M. Durand’s dim, musty little flat from the station! Luggage? As the Villa des Roses is let furnished, only wearing apparel and little particular comforts are required, and so the Durand luggage consists of no more than a shabby large trunk, two dilapidated valises, a bundle, and a collection of sticks, umbrellas, spades for the children and a fishing-rod for their father.