"Ha! ha!" continued Beaupaire, laughing, "what you were just saying to madame reminds me of an anecdote of Philip the Second of Spain. It is said that when his first wife was coming to Madrid to be married to him she was met at the frontier by an escort of grandees, and was treated with all the stiff ceremonies of the Spanish Court. The lady had occasion to mention her legs during the conversation, and was at once rebuked by the Grand Chamberlain appointed to wait on her. 'Madame,' he said, 'the Queen of Spain is not permitted to have any legs.' On hearing this the good dame burst into tears, thinking it would be necessary to have them amputated. However, the Grand Chamberlain explained to her with profound genuflexions and much bowing, that it was highly impolite even to suggest that so exalted a personage as her prospective Majesty could possibly possess such parts of her anatomy. When this story was related to the King, it is said to have been the only occasion when that fanatical and gloomy monarch was ever seen to laugh." Mr. Ridgeway was interrupted by the sudden noise of the brakes--z ... z ... z ... z ... z ... z ... Z ... Z ... Z ... sh ... sh ... sh ... sH ... sh ... SH ... H ... H ... H ... H. The train pulled up in the station just two hours after leaving Paris. "La Roche," shouted the guard. "Cinque minutes d'arrêt." It was the first stop. Marcel was snoring vigorously notwithstanding the noise. Riche woke up with the sudden cessation of movement and the noise of the brakes against the wheels. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. The door opened, and a man with his buxom wife and two children began climbing into the compartment. "Sh--h," said Riche stepping up to the door and putting his fingers to his lips. "You can't come in, my friend down here has just had a fit. He is subject to sudden outbursts of madness, and might kill you at any moment." Marcel had just awoke and managed to catch the last sentence of his friend. A quiet smile flitted across his lips, and he closed his eyes again. The parents exchanged glances as the guard was pushing them in. "Be quick and get in," said the guard. "Mais, monsieur, we dare not. This gentleman says his friend is lying down in a fit, and he is quite mad." The guard hesitated for a moment, and was about to go and call the station master, when Dr. Riche handed him his card. It bore the inscription:-- [Illustration: DOCTEUR RICHE. CHIRURGIEN A L'HOPITAL, ALGER.] engraved in bold letters. The card decided matters at once, and the guard pushing the family away, closed the door and locked it at the doctor's request. "Riche," said Marcel the moment the guard had left, "you are a brick. We can now sleep undisturbed until we get to Marseilles." The next morning they arrived at Marseilles, and everybody got out to stretch their legs and enjoy a good cup of café au lait at the buffet.