"Of course not," replied the other. "Meerberger's passport was stolen from him in the diligence by this English escroc, and the consequence was, that our poor countryman was arrested, the other passport being found upon him; while the Englishman, proceeding to Strasbourg, took his benefit at the opera, and walked away with above twelve thousand florins. "Sappermint" said the other, tossing off his beer. "He must have been a clever fellow, though, to lead the orchestra in the Franc Macons." "That is the most astonishing part of all; for they say in Strasbourg that his performance upon the violin was far finer than Paganini's; but there seems some secret in it, after all: for Madame Baptiste swears that he is Meerberger; and in fact the matter is far from being cleared up --nor can it be till he is apprehended." "Which shall not be for some time to come," said I to myself, as, slipping noiselessly from the room, I regained my "caleche," and in ten minutes more was proceeding on my journey. So much for correct information, thought I. One thing, however, is certain--to the chance interchange of passports I owe my safety, with the additional satisfaction that my little German acquaintance is reaping a pleasant retribution for all his worry and annoyance of me in the coupe. Only he who has toiled over the weary miles of a long journey --exclusively occupied with one thought--one overpowering feeling--can adequately commiserate my impatient anxiety as the days rolled slowly over on the long tiresome road that leads from the Rhine to the south of Germany.