While the Daltons were still occupied in the manner our last chapter has described, the “Hotel de Russie” was a scene of considerable bustle, the preparations for departure engaging every department of the household within doors and without. There were carriage-springs to be lashed with new cordage, drag-chains new tipped with steel, axles to smear, hinges to oil, imperials to buckle on, cap-cases to be secured; and then what a deluge of small articles to be stowed away in most minute recesses, and yet be always at hand when called for! cushions and cordials, and chauffe-pieds and “Quarterlies,” smelling-boxes and slippers, and spectacles and cigar-cases, journals and “John Murrays,” to be disposed of in the most convenient places. Every corridor and landing was blocked up with baggage, and the courier wiped his forehead, and “sacre'd” in half desperation at the mountain of trunks and portmanteaus that lay before him. “This is not ours,” said he, as he came to a very smart valise of lacquered leather, with the initials A. J. in brass on the top. “No, that 's Mr. Jekyl's,” said Mr. George's man, Twig. “He ain't a-goin' with you; he travels in our britzska.” “I'm more like de conducteur of a diligenz than a family courier,” muttered the other, sulkily. “I know noting of de baggage, since we take up strangers at every stage! and always some Teufeln poor devils that have not a sou en poche!” “What's the matter now, Mister Greg'ry?” said Twig, who very imperfectly understood the other's jargon. “The matter is, I will resign my 'fonction' je m'en vais dat 's all! This is noting besser than an 'Eil wagen' mil passengers! Fust of all we have de doctor, as dey call him, wid his stuff birds and beasts, his dried blumen and sticks, till de roof is like de Jardin des Plantes at Paris, and he himself like de bear in de middle. Den we have das verfluchte parroquet of milady, and Flounce, de lapdog, dat must drink every post-station, and run up all de hills for exercise. Dam! Ich bin kein Hund, and need n't run up de hills too! Mademoiselle Celestine have a what d' ye call 'Affe' a ape; and though he be little, a reg'lar teufelchen to hide de keys and de money, when he find 'em. And den dere is de yong lady collectin' all de stones off de road, lauter paving-stones, which she smash wid a leetle hammer! Ach Gott, what is de world grow when a Fraulein fall in love wid Felsen and Steine!” “Monsieur Gregoire! Monsieur Gregoire!” screamed out a sharp voice from a window overhead. “Mademoiselle,” replied he, politely touching his cap to the femme-de-chambre. “Be good enough, Monsieur Gregoire, to have my trunks taken down; there are two in the fourgon, and a cap-case on the large carriage.” “Hagel and Sturm! dey are under everything. How am I--” “I can't possibly say,” broke she in; “but it must be done.” “Can't you wait, Mademoiselle, till we reach Basle?”