I had a presentiment that Alfred intended paying me a visit, and with that wonderful acuteness which characterizes me, I said to myself:  If he comes here, hospitality will force me to endure the agony of his presence as long as he pleases to impose it upon me, a torture forgotten in Dante’s Hell; if I go to see him the situation is reversed.  I can leave under the first indispensable pretext, that will not fail to offer itself, three days after my arrival, and I thus deprive him of all motive for invading my wigwam at Richeport.  Whereupon I went to Nantes, where his relatives reside, with whom he is passing the summer.

At the expiration of four hours I suddenly remembered that most urgent business recalled me to my mother; but what was my anguish, when I saw my execrable friend accompany me to the railroad station, in a traveling suit, a cap on his head, a valise under his arm!  Happily, he was going to Havre by way of Rouen, and I was relieved from all fear of invasion.

At this juncture, my dear friend, endeavor to tear yourself away, for a moment, from the contemplation of your grief, and take some interest in my story.  To so distinguished a person as yourself it has at least the advantage of beginning in an entirely homely and prosaic manner.  I should never have committed the error of writing you anything extraordinary; you are surfeited with the incredible; the supernatural is a twice-told tale; between you and the marvellous secret affinities exist; miracles hunt you up; you find yourself in conjunction with phenomena; what never happens has happened to you; and in the world that you, in every sense, have wandered o’er, no novelty offers itself but the common-place.

The first time you ever attempted to do anything like other people—­to marry—­you failed.  Your only talent is for the impossible; therefore, I hope that my recital, a little after the style of Paul de Kock’s romances, an author admired by great ladies and kitchen girls, will give you infinite surprise and possess all the attraction and freshness of the unknown.

There were already two persons in the compartment into which the conductor hurried us; two women, one old and the other young.

To prevent Alfred from playing the agreeable, I took possession of the corner fronting the youngest, leaving to my tiresome friend the freezing perspective of the older woman.

You know I have no fancy for sustaining what is called the honor of French gallantry—­a gallantry which consists in wearying with ill-timed attention, with remarks upon the rain and the fine weather, interlarded with a thousand and one stupid rhymes, the women forced by circumstances to travel alone.

I settled myself in my corner after making a slight bow on perceiving the presence of women in the car, one of whom evidently merited the attention of every young commercial traveler and troubadour.  I set myself to examine my vis-a-vis, dividing my attention between picturesque studies and studies physiognomical.