“I’ll tell you how it occurred. Everybody in France, you know, dines at the ordinary—it’s quite distangy to do so. There was only three of us to-day, however,—the Baroness, me, and a gent, who never spoke a word; and we didn’t want him to, neither: do you mark that? “You know my way with the women: champagne’s the thing; make ’em drink, make ’em talk;—make ’em talk, make ’em do anything. So I orders a bottle, as if for myself; and, ‘Ma’am,’ says I, ‘will you take a glass of Sham—just one?’ Take it she did—for you know it’s quite distangy here: everybody dines at the table de hôte, and everybody accepts everybody’s wine. Bob Irons, who travels in linen on our circuit, told me that he had made some slap-up acquaintances among the genteelest people at Paris, nothing but by offering them Sham. “Well, my Baroness takes one glass, two glasses, three glasses—the old fellow goes—we have a deal of chat (she took me for a military man, she said: is it not singular that so many people should?), and by ten o’clock we had grown so intimate, that I had from her her whole history, knew where she came from, and where she was going. Leave me alone with ’em: I can find out any woman’s history in half an hour. “And where do you think she IS going? to Paris to be sure: she has her seat in what they call the coopy (though you’re not near so cooped in it as in our coaches. I’ve been to the office and seen one of ’em). She has her place in the coopy, and the coopy holds THREE; so what does Sam Pogson do?—he goes and takes the other two. Ain’t I up to a thing or two? Oh, no, not the least; but I shall have her to myself the whole of the way. “We shall be in the French metropolis the day after this reaches you: please look out for a handsome lodging for me, and never mind the expense. And I say, if you could, in her hearing, when you came down to the coach, call me Captain Pogson, I wish you would—it sounds well travelling, you know; and when she asked me if I was not an officer, I couldn’t say no. Adieu, then, my dear fellow, till Monday, and vive le joy, as they say. The Baroness says I speak French charmingly, she talks English as well as you or I. “Your affectionate friend, “S. Pogson.” This letter reached us duly, in our garrets, and we engaged such an apartment for Mr. Pogson, as beseemed a gentleman of his rank in the world and the army. At the appointed hour, too, we repaired to the Diligence office, and there beheld the arrival of the machine which contained him and his lovely Baroness.