our attentions--
she pillowed on your arms, while he hangs over the lee gunwale--her
gratitude--safe arrival at Calais--sweet smiles of the lady--sullen
deportment of the gentleman--a few hints--and draw the veil. Do you
understand?

_Ansard_. Perfectly. I can manage all that.

_Barnstaple_. Then when you put your foot on shore, you must, for the
first time, _feel sea-sick_.

_Ansard_. On shore?

_Barnstaple_. Yes; reel about, not able to stand--every symptom as if
on board. Express your surprise at the strange effect, pretend not to
explain it, leave that to medical men, it being sufficient for you to
state the _fact_.

_Ansard_. The _fact_! O Barnstaple!

_Barnstaple_. That will be a great hit for a first chapter. You
reverse the order of things.

_Ansard_. That I do most certainly. Shall I finish the first chapter
with that _fact_?

_Barnstaple_. No. Travellers always go to bed at the end of each
chapter. It is a wise plan, and to a certain degree it must be
followed. You must have a baggage adventure--be separated from it--some
sharp little urchin has seized upon your valise--it is nowhere to be
found--quite in despair--walk to the Hotel d'Angleterre, and find that
you are met by the landlord and garcons, who inform you that your
carriage is in the remise, and your rooms ready--ascend to your
bedroom--find that your baggage is not only there, but neatly laid out--
your portmanteau unstrapped--your trunk uncorded--and the little rascal
of a commissaire standing by with his hat in his hand, and a smile _de
malice_, having installed _himself_ as your _domestique de place_--take
him for his impudence--praise the "_Cotelettes_ and the _vin de
Beaune_"--wish the reader good night, and go to bed. Thus ends the
first chapter.

[ANSARD _gets up and takes_ BARNSTAPLE'S _hand, which he shakes warmly
without speaking_. BARNSTAPLE _smiles and walks out_. ANSARD _is left
hard at work at his desk_.]

ARTHUR ANSARD _in his Chambers, solus, with his pen in his hand_.

_Ansard_. Capital! that last was a _hit_. It has all the appearance of
reality. To be sure, I borrowed the hint, but that nobody will be able
to prove. (_Yawns_.) Heigho! I have only got half way on my journey
yet, and my ideas are quite exhausted. I am as much worn out and
distressed as one of the German post-horses which I described in my last
chapter. (_Nods, and then falls fast asleep_.)

BARNSTAPLE _taps at the door; re