y seemed to be realized
before me, but the heavenly detectives were changed into mortal
gendarmes. The porter and the nondescript threw back the gate,
preventing my passage. The terrors of Prudhon's avenging spirits were
all expressed, to my thinking, in the looks which these two official
people exchanged in my favor, and then bent on me. We stood in a
triangle.

"One moment: I propose a plan," I cried in desperation. "I do not know a
soul in Strasburg, and the friend who brought me here is gone, I cannot
tell whither. But I have an acquaintance in the British consulate at
Carlsruhe--Berkley, you know," I explained with an insane familiarity,
"my old friend Berkley's nephew. Admit me to the train, and we will
telegraph to him. His reply will come in ten minutes, and will show you
my responsible character. I have come fifteen minutes in advance of the
starting-hour."

"The wire to Carlsruhe," said the porter, "is under repairs."

"The train to Paris," said the second man, "is off."

Some fate was pursuing me. Rudely rejected at the wicket, and treated as
a man without a nationality, I felt as if I had but one friend now
available on earth--the friend who had come into my head while
conversing with the railway guard. Old Mr. Berkley, Mr. Sylvester.
Berkley and I had once breakfasted together at Brighton, the first
sitting in a tub, the second eating nothing but raw macerated beef, and
I for my part devouring toast and Icelandic poetry. The nephew had since
gone into diplomacy to strengthen his bile. I had not seen him for
years.

I approached the schedule of distances hanging on the wall. My movements
were those of a man prostrated and resigned. I ran my forefinger over
the departures from Kohl to Carlsruhe.

In three hours I was in the latter city.

It was not in beggar's guise that Paul Flemming would fain be seen in
the capital of the grand duchy--the most formal capital, the most
symmetrical capital, the most monumental capital, as it is the youngest
capital, in Europe. Nor was it as a vagabond that he would wish to
appear in that capital, before a friend who happened to be a
diplomatist. I recollected the engaging aspect in which I had offered
myself to the reflections of the Rhine when last beside that romantic
stream--a comely youth, with Stultz's best waistcoats on his bosom and
with ineffable sorrows in his heart. Frau Himmelauen used to say, at
Heidelberg, that my gloves were a shade too light for a str