To begin with, you have about finished your soup, when a station
official appears at the door and informs all the feeding passengers
in an assuring and encouraging voice that they have "_encore dix-huit
minutes_"--as much as to say, "Pray, my dear Monsieur, or Madame,
as the case may be, do not hurry over that capital portion of _boeuf
braisé à l'Impériale_, but enjoy its full flavour at your perfect
leisure. There is not, pray believe me, the remotest occasion for any
excitement or hurry." A little later on, in your repast, when you are
just, perhaps, beginning to wonder whether you oughtn't to be thinking
about returning to the train, the good fairy official again appears at
the door, this time announcing that you have "_encore douze minutes_"
in the same encouraging tones, that seem to say, "Now, I beg you will
quite finish that excellent '_poulet_' and '_salade_.' Believe me, you
have ample time. Trust to me. I charge myself with the responsibility
of seeing that you catch your train calmly and comfortably;" which he
certainly does, looking in again as Madame comes round, and you pay
her her modest demand of three francs fifty for her excellently-cooked
and well-served repast (_vin compris_), with the final announcement
of, "_Maintenant en voiture, Mesdames et Messieurs_," that find you
comfortably seated in your place again, with three minutes to spare
before the departure of the train. But perhaps the best testimony to
the excellence of the management may be found in the fact that the
Dilapidated One was not only got out, but well fed, and put back in
his place, with a whole minute to spare, without any excitement,
or more than the usual expenditure of nerve-force required for the
undertaking.

"I will, when Monsieur desires it, make up the bed for 'im,"
volunteers the military officer, towards eleven o'clock; and, as