Arles was much more satisfactory. There are more pretty women in Arles than in any other town of the same size on the Continent. The Club created an unusual excitement in this peaceful town by walking slowly through it in Indian file, narrowly scrutinizing every thing. They wondered much at the numbers of people that filled the cathedral, all gayly dressed. It was not until after a long calculation that they found out that it was Sunday. Buttons kept his memorandum-book in his hand all day, and took account of all the pretty women whom he saw. The number rose as high as 729. He would have raised it higher, but unfortunately an indignant citizen put a stop to it by charging him with impertinence to his wife. On the railroad to Marseilles is a famous tunnel. At the last station before entering the tunnel a gentleman got in. As they passed through the long and gloomy place there suddenly arose a most outrageous noise in the car. It was the new passenger. Occasionally the light shining in would disclose him, dancing, stamping, tearing his hair, rolling his eyes, gnashing his teeth, and cursing. "Is he crazy?" said Dick. "Or drunk?" said Buttons. Lo and behold! just as the train emerged from the tunnel the passenger made a frantic dash at the window, flung it open, and before any body could speak or move he was half out. To spring over half a dozen seats, to land behind him, to seize his outstretched leg, to jerk him in again, was but the work of a moment. It was Buttons who did this, and who banged down the window again. "Sac-r-r-R-R-Ré!" cried the Frenchman. "Is it that you are mad?" said Buttons. "Sacré Bleu!" cried the other. "Who are you that lays hands on me?" "I saved you from destruction." "Then, Sir, you have no thanks. Behold me, I'm a desperate man!" In truth he looked like one. His clothes were all disordered. His lips were bleeding, and most of his hair was torn out. By this time the guard had come to the spot. All those in the car had gathered round. It was a long car, second-class, like the American. "M'sieu, how is this? What is it that I see? You endeavor to kill yourself?" "Leave me. I am desperate." "But no. M'sieu, what is it?" "Listen. I enter the train thinking to go to Avignon. I have important business there, most important. Suddenly I am struck by a thought. I find I have mistaken. I am carried to Marseilles. It is the express train, and I must go all the way. Horror! Despair! Life is of no use! It is time to resign, it! I die! Accordingly I attempt to leap from the window, when this gentleman seizes me by the leg and pulls me in. Behold all." "M'sieu," said the guard, slowly, and with emphasis, "you have committed a grave offense. Suicide is a capital crime." "A capital crime!" exclaimed the Frenchman, turning pale. "Great Heaven!" "Yes, Sir. If you leap from the car I shall put you in irons, and hand you over to the police when we stop."