Page:Pen And Pencil Sketches - Volume I.djvu/68

36 were before long sympathetically sea-sick. It was dark by the time we reached Boulogne, and the railway journey seemed as though it would never end, though I suppose we slept a little.

CALDERON.

We got to Paris at some frightfully early hour, drove to the lodging which a friend, an Irishman named Bland, was to have secured for us, but had failed somehow to get: so there was nothing to do but leave our