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HERE was a general astonishment in our little circle of friends when we heard of the approaching marriage of Valentin Sincère. What! he?—the hardened celibate! the Parisian sceptic, rebelling against all matrimonial ideas!—the joyous free-liver who had a hundred times swore that he would never have anything to do with it! Valentin, after all, was going to join the great brotherhood! And, of all women, whom was he going to marry?—a widow! We were bewildered.

So, the first time I met him, I button-holed him, and demanded explanations.

"I've hardly time to speak to you—a heap of things to do. I have just come from the Mairie, and am on my way to Stern's, the engraver in the Passage du Panoramas, to get some invitation letters. If you'll go with me"

"If I'll go with you!" I said.

We were in front of the Madeleine. We passed down the boulevards, arm in arm.

"The story's a very simple one," he said. "Commonplace to the last degree; but, since you want so much to know about it, here it is:—

"In the month of February last I was going to Nice for the Carnival fêtes. I have the greatest aversion to travelling by night, and I therefore took the 8.55 morning train, due at midnight at Marseilles, where I proposed spending the following day with my friends, the Rombauds, who expected me to breakfast. The next morning I was going on to Nice, where I was to arrive at two o'clock in the afternoon.

"At the station there was an excited crowd; but, thanks to the proverbial obligingness of M. Regnoul, the station-master, I was able to secure place in the only coupé in the train. The only other occupant was a gentleman with a red rosette in a button-hole of his overcoat—a gentleman of severe aspect, and with an administrative air, whose luggage consisted solely of a portfolio. Assuredly he was not going far with that outfit, and presently I should be alone. Alone! the only thing to make a railway journey supportable!

"All the passengers were in their places, and the train was about starting, when the sound of a dispute arose at the door.

No, Monsieur, no!' said the voice of a woman, fresh in tone, and with an almost imperceptible Southern accent. 'I ordered a sleeping-compartment, and a sleeping-compartment I must have.'

But, Madame, I have told you, we haven't one!'

You ought to have carried out the instructions in my letter.'

We have not received any letter, Madame!'

Have another carriage put on, then.'

Impossible!—we have already the regu-