: as
we were effecting our covert and hasty retreat we heard all the voices
exclaim in concert, "It is the Pure Illumination!"

Gay as we were on entering the great wine-cellar, we were perfectly
Olympian when we came out. The crypts of these vast establishments,
where a soft inspiration perpetually floats upward from the wine in
store, often receive a visitor as a Diogenes and dismiss him as an
Anacreon.

Our consumption of wine at dinner had been, like Mr. Poe's
conversation with his soul, "serious and sober." In the cellar no drop
had passed our mouths. I was alert as a lark when I entered: I came
out in a species of voluptuous dream.

All the band conducted me to the railway-station, and I was very much
touched with the attention. It was who should carry my botany-box, who
should set my cap straight, who should give me the most precise and
statistical information about the train which returned to Paris, with
a stop at Noisy; the while, Ophelia-like, I chanted snatches of old
songs, and mingled together in a tender reverie my recollections
of Mary Ashburton, my coming Book and my theories of Progressive
Geography.

"Take this shawl: the night will be chilly before you get to the
city."

"Don't let them carry you beyond Noisy."

"Come back to Epernay every May-day: never forget the feast of Saint
Athanasius."

"Be sure you get into the right train: here is the car. Come, man,
bundle up! they are closing the barrier."

I was perfectly melted by so much sympathy. "Adieu," I said, "my dear
champanions--"

I turned into an excellent car, first class, and fell asleep directly.

Next day I awoke--at Strasburg! The convivials of the evening before,
making for the Falls of Schaffhausen on the Rhine, had traveled beside
me in the adjoining car.

My friends, uncertain how their practical joke would be received,
clustered around me.

"Ah, boys," I said, "I have too many griefs imprisoned in this aching
bosom to be much put out by the ordinary 'Horrid Hoax.' But you have
compromised my reputation. I promised to meet Hohenfels at Marly:
children, bankruptcy stares me in the face."

Grandstone had the grace to be a little embarrassed: "You wished to
dine with me at the Feast of Saint Athanasius, but you mistook the
day. Your engineer is the true culprit, for he voluntarily deceived
you. The fact is, my dear Flemming, we have concocted a little
conspiracy. You are a good fellow, a joyful spirit in fact, when you