perceived that
he could not find out, he put on his travelling cap, rolled himself up
in his rugs, and stretched out comfortably to sleep.

He did not wake until the day was breaking, and looked at once at his
fellow-traveller, who had not stirred all night, and seemed still to be
sound asleep.

M. d'Etraille made use of the opportunity to brush his hair and his
beard, and to try to freshen himself up a little generally, for a
night's travel does not improve one's appearance when one has attained a
certain age.

A great poet has said:

"When we are young, our mornings are triumphant!"

Then we wake up with a cool skin, a bright eye, and glossy hair.

As one grows older one wakes up in a very different condition. Dull
eyes, red, swollen cheeks, dry lips, hair and beard disarranged, impart
an old, fatigued, worn-out look to the face.

The baron opened his travelling case, and improved his looks as much as
possible.

The engine whistled, the train stopped, and his neighbor moved. No
doubt he was awake. They started off again, and then a slanting ray of
sunlight shone into the carriage and on the sleeper, who moved again,
shook himself, and then his face could be seen.

It was a young, fair, pretty, plump woman, and the baron looked at her
in amazement. He did not know what to think. He could really have sworn
that it was his wife, but wonderfully changed for the better: stouter
--why she had grown as stout as he was, only it suited her much better
than it did him.

She looked at him calmly, did not seem to recognize him, and then slowly
laid aside her wraps. She had that quiet assurance of a woman who is
sure of herself, who feels that on awaking she is in her full beauty and
freshness.

The baron was really bewildered. Was it his wife, or else as like her
as any sister could be? Not having seen her for six years, he might be
mistaken.

She yawned, and this gesture betrayed her. She turned and looked at
him again, calmly, indifferently, as if she scarcely saw him, and then
looked out of the window again.

He was upset and dreadfully perplexed, and kept looking at her sideways.

Yes; it was surely his wife. How could he possibly have doubted it?
There could certainly not be two noses like that, and a thousand
recollections flashed through his mind. He felt the old feeling of the
intoxication of love stealing over him, and he called to mind the sweet
odor of her skin, her smile when she put her arms on to