aggage, and the courier wiped his forehead, and "sacre'd" in
half desperation at the mountain of trunks and portmanteaus that lay
before him.

"This is not ours," said he, as he came to a very smart valise of
lacquered leather, with the initials A. J. in brass on the top.

"No, that 's Mr. Jekyl's," said Mr. George's man, Twig. "He ain't
a-goin' with you; he travels in our britzska."

"I'm more like de conducteur of a diligenz than a family courier,"
muttered the other, sulkily. "I know noting of de baggage, since we take
up strangers at every stage! and always some Teufeln poor devils that
have not a sou en poche!"

"What's the matter now, Mister Greg'ry?" said Twig, who very imperfectly
understood the other's jargon.

"The matter is, I will resign my 'fonction' je m'en vais dat 's all!
This is noting besser than an 'Eil wagen' mil passengers! Fust of all
we have de doctor, as dey call him, wid his stuff birds and beasts, his
dried blumen and sticks, till de roof is like de Jardin des Plantes
at Paris, and he himself like de bear in de middle. Den we have das
verfluchte parroquet of milady, and Flounce, de lapdog, dat must drink
every post-station, and run up all de hills for exercise. Dam! Ich bin
kein Hund, and need n't run up de hills too! Mademoiselle Celestine have
a what d' ye call 'Affe' a ape; and though he be little, a reg'lar
teufelchen to hide de keys and de money, when he find 'em. And den
dere is de yong lady collectin' all de stones off de road, lauter
paving-stones, which she smash wid a leetle hammer! Ach Gott, what is de
world grow when a Fraulein fall in love wid Felsen and Steine!"

"Monsieur Gregoire! Monsieur Gregoire!" screamed out a sharp voice from
a window overhead.

"Mademoiselle," replied he, politely touching his cap to the
femme-de-chambre.

"Be good enough, Monsieur Gregoire, to have my trunks taken down; there
are two in the fourgon, and a cap-case on the large carriage."

"Hagel and Sturm! dey are under everything. How am I--"

"I can't possibly say," broke she in; "but it must be done."

"Can't you wait, Mademoiselle, till we reach Basle?"

"I'm going away, Monsieur Gregoire. I'm off to Paris," was the reply, as
the speaker closed the sash and disappeared.

"What does she say?" inquired Twig, who, as this dialogue was carried on
in French, was in total ignorance of its meaning.

"She has given her demission," said the courier, pompously. "Resign her
portefeuille, and sh