Mrs. Greene was leading it with great majesty, the waiter with the shiny hair walking by her side to point out to her the way. Then came all the luggage,—each porter carrying a white canvas-covered box. That which was so valuable no doubt was carried next to Mrs. Greene, so that she might at a moment’s notice put her eye upon the well-known valuable rent. I confess that I did not observe the hole as the train passed by me, nor did I count the number of the boxes. Seven boxes, all alike, are very many; and then they were followed by three other men with the inferior articles,—Mr. Greene’s portmanteau, the carpetbag, &e., &c. At the tail of the line, I found Mr. Greene, and behind him Sophonisba. “All your fatigues will be over now,” I said to the gentleman, thinking it well not to be too particular in my attentions to his daughter. He was panting beneath a terrible great-coat, having forgotten that the shores of an Italian lake are not so cold as the summits of the Alps, and did not answer me. “I’m sure I hope so,” said Sophonisba. “And I shall advise papa not to go any farther unless he can persuade Mrs. Greene to send her jewels home.” “Sophy, my dear,” he said, “for Heaven’s sake let us have a little peace since we are here.” From all which I gathered that Mr. Green had not been fortunate in his second matrimonial adventure. We then made our way slowly up to the hotel, having been altogether distanced by the porters, and when we reached the house we found that the different packages were already being carried away through the house, some this way and some that. Mrs. Green, the meanwhile, was talking loudly at the door of her own sitting-room. “Mr. Greene,” she said, as soon as she saw her heavily oppressed spouse,—for the noonday sun was up,—“Mr. Greene, where are you?” “Here, my dear,” and Mr. Greene threw himself panting into the corner of a sofa. “A little seltzer water and brandy,” I suggested. Mr. Greene’s inmost heart leaped at the hint, and nothing that his remonstrant wife could say would induce him to move, until he had enjoyed the delicious draught. In the mean time the box with the hole in the canvas had been lost. Yes; when we came to look into matters, to count the packages, and to find out where we were, the box with the hole in the canvas was not there. Or, at any rate, Mrs. Greene said it was not there. I worked hard to look it up, and even went into Sophonisba’s bed-room in my search. In Sophonisba’s bed-room there was but one canvas-covered box. “That is my own,” said she, “and it is all that I have, except this bag.” “Where on earth can it be?” said I, sitting down on the trunk in question. At the moment I almost thought that she had been instrumental in hiding it. “How am I to know?” she answered; and I fancied that even she was dismayed. “What a fool that woman is!” “The box must be in the house,” I said.