ROBBERY; AMERICAN FASHION "Tickets, please." The guard took the one offered by Fandor. "Excuse me, sir, there's a mistake here," he said. "This train doesn't go to Marseilles?" "The train, yes, but not the last carriage in which you are, for it is bound for Pontarlier, and will be slipped at Lyons from this express." Fandor was nonplussed. The essential was to follow Josephine, ensconced in the compartment next to his. "Well, I'll get into another carriage when we are off; it's so easy with the corridors." "You can't do that, sir," insisted the guard. "While all the carriages for Marseilles in the front of the train communicate, this one is separated from them by a baggage car." "Then I'll change later, during the night. I have till Dijon, haven't I?" "You have." The guard went away. Fandor suddenly asked himself: "Has Josephine made a mistake, too? Or has she a definite purpose in being in a carriage which is to be slipped from the Southern Express at Dijon to go on toward the Swiss frontier?" The guard was looking at tickets in Josephine's compartment. Fandor went near to listen; he heard the tail of a conversation between the fair traveller, her companion and the guard. The latter declared as he withdrew: "Exactly so, you shall not be disturbed." When Josephine had boarded the train, Fandor had not ventured to watch her too closely, nor the companion she had met on the platform at the last moment. He now decided to take advantage of the corridor to take a look at the man. He was quite stout, rather common in appearance, although with a prosperous air. A man of middle age, whose jolly face was framed in a beard, giving him the look of an old mariner. Moreover, he was one-eyed. Josephine was playful, full of smiles and amiability, but also somewhat absent-minded. The pair had decidedly the appearance of being lovers. Although it was quite early, passengers were arranging to pass the night as comfortably as possible. The lamps had been shaded with their little blue curtains, and the portières, facing the corridors, had been drawn. Fandor returned to his compartment. Two corners of it were already occupied--the two furthest away from the corridor. One was in possession of a man about forty, with a waxed moustache, having the air of an officer in mufti, the other was taken by a young collegian with a waxen complexion. The journalist determined to keep awake, but scarcely had he settled himself when drowsiness crept over him. Rocked by the regular motion of the train he sank into a slumber troubled by nightmares. Then suddenly he sprang up. He had the clear impression of some one brushing by him and opening the door to the corridor.