“Oh!  Thirteen pounds,” answered the old man, carelessly.

And not long before Nellie had scarcely escaped ten days in the steerage of an Atlantic liner.

After dinner in the restaurant car—­no champagne, because it was vulgar, but a good sound, expensive wine—­they felt more equal to the situation, more like part-owners of the train.  Nellie prudently went to bed ere the triumphant feeling wore off.  But Denry stayed up smoking in the corridor.  He stayed up very late, being too proud and happy and too avid of new sensations to be able to think of sleep.  It was a match which led to a conversation between himself and a thin, drawling, overbearing fellow with an eyeglass.  Denry had hated this lordly creature all the way from Dieppe.  In presenting him with a match he felt that he was somehow getting the better of him, for the match was precious in the nocturnal solitude of the vibrating corridor.  The mere fact that two people are alone together and awake, divided from a sleeping or sleepy population only by a row of closed, mysterious doors, will do much to break down social barriers.  The excellence of Denry’s cigar also helped.  It atoned for the breadth of his accent.

He said to himself: 

“I’ll have a bit of a chat with this johnny.”

And then he said aloud: 

“Not a bad train this!”

“No!” the eyeglass agreed languidly.  “Pity they give you such a beastly dinner!”

And Denry agreed hastily that it was.

Soon they were chatting of places, and somehow it came out of Denry that he was going to Montreux.  The eyeglass professed its indifference to Montreux in winter, but said the resorts above Montreux were all right, such as Caux or Pridoux.

And Denry said: 

“Well, of course, shouldn’t think of stopping in Montreux.  Going to try Pridoux.”

The eyeglass said it wasn’t going so far as Switzerland yet; it meant to stop in the Jura.

“Geneva’s a pretty deadly place, ain’t it?” said the eyeglass after a pause.

“Ye-es,” said Denry.

“Been there since that new esplanade was finished?”

“No,” said Denry.  “I saw nothing of it.”

“When were you there?”

“Oh!  A couple of years ago.”

“Ah!  It wasn’t started then.  Comic thing!  Of course they’re awfully proud in Geneva of the view of Mont Blanc.”

“Yes,” said Denry.

“Ever noticed how queer women are about that view?  They’re no end keen on it at first, but after a day or two it gets on their nerves.”

“Yes,” said Denry.  “I’ve noticed that myself.  My wife....”

He stopped, because he didn’t know what he was going to say.  The eyeglass nodded understandingly.

“All alike,” it said.  “Odd thing!”

When Denry introduced himself into the two-berth compartment which he had managed to secure at the end of the carriage for himself and Nellie, the poor tired child was as wakeful as an owl.