It was marvellous to watch what followed. The manager listened patiently to the Pigeon Charmer's explanation of the outrage, started suddenly when she mentioned some details which I did not hear, bowed as low to her reply as if she had been a Duchess--his hat to the floor--slid back the closet-door, beckoned me to step in, closed it again upon the three of us, and in less than five minutes he had the third chocolate gentleman out of his chocolate uniform and stripped to his underwear, with every pocket turned inside out, bringing to light the one-hundred-franc note, the gold pieces, and all five of the circus parties' tickets. Then he flung the astonished and humiliated man his trousers, waited until he had pulled them on, grabbed him by his shirt-collar and marched him out of the car across the platform through the wicket gate, every passenger on the train looking on in wonder. Five minutes later the whole party--the stately Pigeon Charmer, her English maid, the spectacled German (performing sword-swallower or lightning calculator probably), and the two boys (tumblers unquestionably), with all their belongings--were transferred to my car, the Pigeon Charmer graciously accepting my escort, the passengers, including the bald-headed man--my room-mate--standing on one side to let us pass: all except the big dog, who had shifted his quarters, and was now stretched out at the sofa end of the car. Then another extraordinary thing happened--or rather a series of extraordinary things. When I had deposited the Pigeon Charmer in her own compartment (Number Five, next door), and had entered my own, I found my bald-headed room-mate again inside. This time he was seated by the foot-square, dust-covered table assorting cigarettes. He had transferred my small luggage--bag, coat, etc.--to the _lower_ berth, and had arranged his own belongings in the upper one. He sprang to his feet the instant he saw me. The bow of the Sleeping-Car Manager to the Pigeon Charmer was but a bend in a telegraph-pole to the sweep the bald-headed man now made me. I thought his scalp would touch the car-floor. "No, your Highness," he cried, "I insist"--this to my protest that I had come last--that he had prior right--besides, he was an older man, etc., etc.--"I could not sleep if I thought you were not most comfortable--nothing can move me. Pardon me--will not your Highness accept one of my poor cigarettes? They, of course, are not like the ones you use, but I always do my best. I have now a new cigarette-girl, and she rolled them for me herself, and brought them to me just as I was leaving St. Petersburg. Permit me"--and he handed me a little leather box filled with Russian cigarettes.