which the sculptor has endowed him.  In the same church I had the misfortune to see in the boxes a pair of horrible mummies, decked off with robes and ornaments—­a count of Nassau-Saarwerden and his daughter, according to the custodian—­an unhappy pair who, having escaped our common doom of corruption by some physical aridity or meagreness, have been compelled to leave their tombs and attitudinize as works of art.  In Kleber’s square I saw the conqueror of Heliopolis, excessively pigeon-breasted, dangling his sabre over a cowering little figure of Egypt, and looking around in amazement at the neighboring windows:  in fact, Kleber began his career as an architect, and there were solecisms in the surrounding structure to have turned a better balanced head than his.  In the markets I saw peasants with red waistcoats and flat faces shaded with triangles of felt, and peasant-girls bareheaded, with a gilded arrow apparently shot through their brains.  I traversed the Street of the Great Arcades, and saw the statue of Gutenberg, of whom, as well as of Peter Schoeffer, the natives seem to be proud, though they were but type-setters.  Finally, in the Beer-hall, that of the dauphin, I tasted a thimble-ful of inimitable beer, the veritable beer of Strasburg.  Already, at half-past eight on that fine May morning, I persuaded myself that I had seen everything, so painful had my feet become by pounding over the pavements.

My friend the engineer had agreed to breakfast with me at the hotel.  When I entered the dining-room with the intention of waiting for him, I found two individuals sitting at table.  One was no other than the red-nosed Scotchman, the Eleusinian victim whom I had watched through the bottle-rack at Epernay.  Of the second I recognized the architectural back, the handsomely rolled and faced blue coat and the marble volutes of his Ionic shirt-collar:  it was my good friend of the cathedral.  Every trace of his civic grief had disappeared, and he wore a beaming banquet-room air, though the tear of patriotism was hardly dry upon his cheek.

As I paused to dispose of my accoutrements the red nose was saying, “Yes, my dear sir, since yesterday I am a Mason.  I have the honor,” he pursued, “to be First Attendant Past Grand.  It will be a great thing for me at Edinburgh.  Burns, I believe, was only Third Assistant, Exterior Lodge:  the Rank, however, in his opinion, was but the guinea’s stamp.  But the advantages of Masonry are met with everywhere.  Already in the train last night I struck the acquaintance of a fine fellow, a Mason like myself.”

“Allow me to ask,” said the cheerful bluebottle, “how you knew him for a Mason like yourself?”

“I’ll tell you.  I was unable to sleep, because, you see, I had to drink Moet for my initiation:  as I am unaccustomed to anything livelier than whisky, it unnerved me.  To pass the time I went softly over the signals.”

“What signals, if I may be so indiscreet?”