I learned that a train would start in about a quarter of an hour. I had some coffee and a roll at the buffet. While I was consuming that trifling refection the young man and his sister joined me. The girl was taciturn as before, but her brother talked cheerfully as he sipped chocolate; he told me that his name was Watts, and he introduced his sister. He had a pleasant but rather weak face, and as for his manner and bearing, I could not decide in my own mind whether he was a gentleman or a buyer from some London drapery warehouse on his way to the city of modes. He gave no information as to his profession or business, and as I had not even returned his confidence by revealing my name, this was not to be wondered at. "Are you going on to Paris?" he said presently. "Yes; and the sooner I get there the better I shall be pleased." "Exactly," he smiled. "I am going, too. I have crossed the Channel many times, but I have never before had such an experience as last night's." Then we began to compare notes of previous voyages, until a railway official entered the buffet with a raucous, "Voyageurs pour Paris, en voiture." There was only one first-class carriage, and into this I immediately jumped, and secured a corner. Mr. Watts followed me, and took the other corner of the same seat. Miss Watts remained on the platform. It was a corridor carriage, and the corridor happened to be on the far side from the platform. Mr. Watts went out to explore the corridor. I arranged myself in my seat, placed the jewel-case by my side, and my mackintosh over my knees. Miss Watts stood idly in front of the carriage door, tapping the platform with her umbrella. "You do not accompany your brother, then?" I ventured. "No. I'm staying in Calais, where I have an--an engagement." She smiled plaintively at me. Mr. Watts came back into the compartment, and, standing on the step, said good-by to his sister, and embraced her. She kissed him affectionately. Then, having closed the carriage door, he stolidly resumed his seat, which was on the other side away from the door. We had the compartment to ourselves. "A nice girl," I reflected. The train whistled, and a porter ran along to put the catches on all the doors. "Good-by; we're off," I said to Miss Watts. "Monsieur," she said, and her face seemed to flush in the cold morning light,--"monsieur." Was she, then, French, to address me like that? She made a gesture as if she would say something to me of importance, and I put my head out of the window. "May I ask you to keep an eye on my brother?" she whispered. "In what way?" I asked, somewhat astonished. The train began to move, and she walked to keep level with me. "Do not let him drink at any of the railway buffets on the journey; he will be met at the Gare du Nord. He is addicted--" "But how can I stop him if he wants to--" She had an appealing look, and she was running now to keep pace with the train.