to carry off my vivacity, "but I think informing conversation is a
bore until after the nuts and raisins. A Danish proverb says that he
who knows what he is saying at a feast has but poor comprehension
of what he is eating. On my way hither, breakfasting at Strasburg, I
enjoyed a lesson in geography, and I aver that though the lesson was
elementary, I breakfasted very badly."

[Illustration: DELIGHTS OF THE VERLOBTEN.]

"Who was the teacher?" asked the explorer of Wyoming, a German, in the
tone of a man to whom no professor of Geography could properly be a
stranger.

"The teacher," I answered with a smile, "was one Fortnoye--"

I did not finish my sentence. At that name, Fortnoye, a kind of
electric movement was communicated around the board. Every eye sought
the face of Francine, who, troubled and confused, fell upon the cutlet
placed before her and cut it feverishly into flinders. Evidently there
was a secret thereabouts. When coffee was on, I applied myself to
satisfying the topographic doubts of my neighbors, but the name of the
geographical professor was approached no more.

When dinner was over, and only two stranded Belgians remained at
table, discussing whether the Falls of Niagara plunge from the United
States into Canada, or from Canada into the United States, I stole
into the narrow office, believing I should see Francine.

She was not there, but the register was lying on the desk. I fell to
turning the leaves over furiously: I felt that I was on the trail of