“Thanks, thanks.”

“What is your name?”

“Kinko.”

“Kinko?  Excellent name!”

“Excellent?”

“For my articles!  You are a Roumanian, are you not?”

“Roumanian of Bucharest.”

“But you have lived in France?”

“Four years in Paris, where I was apprentice to an upholsterer in the Faubourg Saint Antoine.”

“And you went back to Bucharest?”

“Yes, to work at my trade there until the day came when it was impossible for me to resist the desire to leave—­”

“To leave?  Why?”

“To marry!”

“To marry—­Mademoiselle Zinca—­”

“Zinca?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle Zinca Klork, Avenue Cha-Coua, Pekin, China!”

“You know?”

“Certainly.  The address is on the box.”

“True.”

“As to Mademoiselle Zinca Klork—­”

“She is a young Roumanian.  I knew her in Paris, where she was learning the trade of a milliner.  Oh, charming—­”

“I am sure upon it.  You need not dwell on that.”

“She also returned to Bucharest, until she was invited to take the management of a dressmaker’s at Pekin.  We loved, monsieur; she went—­and we were separated for a year.  Three weeks ago she wrote to me.  She was getting on over there.  If I could go out to her, I would do well.  We should get married without delay.  She had saved something.  I would soon earn as much as she had.  And here I am on the road—­in my turn—­for China.”

“In this box?”

“What would you have, Monsieur Bombarnac?” asked Kinko, reddening.  “I had only money enough to buy a packing case, a few provisions, and get myself sent off by an obliging friend.  It costs a thousand francs to go from Tiflis to Pekin.  But as soon as I have gained them, the company will be repaid, I assure you.”

“I believe you, Kinko, I believe you; and on your arrival at Pekin?”

“Zinca has been informed.  The box will be taken to Avenue Cha-Coua, and she—­”

“Will pay the carriage?”

“Yes.”

“And with pleasure, I will answer for it.”

“You may be sure of it, for we love each other so much.”

“And besides, Kinko, what would one not do for a sweetheart who consents to shut himself up in a box for a fortnight, and arrives labelled ‘Glass,’ ‘Fragile,’ ‘Beware of damp—­’”

“Ah, you are making fun of a poor fellow.”

“Not at all; and you may rest assured I will neglect nothing which will enable you to arrive dry and in one piece at Mademoiselle Zinca Klork’s—­in short, in a perfect state of preservation!”

“Again I thank you,” said Kinko, pressing my hands.  “Believe me, you will not find me ungrateful.”

“Ah! friend Kinko, I shall be paid, and more than paid!”

“And how?”

“By relating, as soon as I can do so without danger to you, the particulars of your journey from Tiflis to Pekin.  Think now—­what a heading for a column: