As I glanced cautiously up and down I saw a door standing open at some little distance.  Around that door all my hopes were immediately centred.  It might lead directly to the custom-house; it might be the entrance to the barracks of the guards; it might be—­I knew not what; but it might afford a passage to the other platform.

I walked quickly to the door, glanced in, saw no one and entered.  The room was a baggage-room, and at that moment unoccupied.  It instantly occurred to me that a baggage-room ought to open on both platforms.  I felt as though I could have shouted “Eureka!” and I am confident that the joy of Archimedes as he rushed through the streets of Syracuse was no greater than mine as I felt that I had so unexpectedly discovered the passage I was seeking.  Passing through this room, I found myself in a second, like the former unoccupied.  It had occurred to me that all the doors might be closed, and the thought had considerably abated my rejoicing; but no!  I saw a door which stood invitingly open.

No guards were stationed on the platform; so I stepped out, and before me stood the train for Aix, into which my fellow-passengers were entering, some of them still holding their passports in their hands.  Taking my seat in one of the carriages, in a few moments the train started and I was on my way to Aix.  The relief was unspeakably great.  An instant before it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle could save me from a French guard-house, and now, by the simplest combination of circumstances, in which a restaurant and baggage-room bore an important part, I had passed unchallenged.  I remember that I enjoyed the scenery and views along the route from Culoz to Aix more than while passing from Belgarde to Culoz.

My friends were found expecting me upon my arrival, and joined in congratulating me upon my happy escape.  A night and day were passed very pleasantly, and then arose the question of return.

I suggested telegraphing to Geneva for my passport, but that was vetoed, and it was decided that I should return as I had come—­passportless.  I confess that the attempt seemed somewhat hazardous.  If it was dangerous to attempt an entrance into France, how much more so to attempt an exit, especially when the custom-house force had been doubled with the sole object that all possibility of escape might be precluded, and that any one passing Culoz might be stopped at Belgarde!  It was urged, however, that our seats had been engaged in the diligence for Friday morning, and to send for the passport would consume considerable time—­would certainly delay the party until Saturday, and perhaps until Monday, which delay would seriously affect all their plans, time being so limited and so many places remaining to be visited.  I had passed once, why not again?  Influenced by these facts, and thinking what a triumph it would be once more to baffle French vigilance, I determined to attempt the return.  There was a train leaving Aix about eight P.M., reaching Geneva at eleven:  it was decided that I should take this train.  I had arranged a vague plan of action, although I expected to depend rather upon the suggestion of the moment.