arm.  If Narcisse had entertained any doubts as to whether or not Charlie was really as sleepy as he had intimated, this partial unrobing must surely have dispelled it.  Notwithstanding his haste to get to bed, Charlie fumbled at the latch an unusually long time before he succeeded in opening the door.  And finally, when it did swing open, his coat, without any apparent provocation, perversely slipped from his arm and fell to the floor.  Charlie found it necessary, before he put it across his arm again, to carefully dust and fold it.

Turning round as the door was closing behind him, he said, in a voice that seemed a little strained, “Yes, we will go to bed and dream of camp days, eh, Narcisse?” Then he was gone.

Narcisse walked over to the window, stood for a few moments with folded arms, gazing out into the darkness, and then said softly, “Yes, dream of de camp days.”

When Charlie reached his room, he acted in a most peculiar manner; he put his ear to the partition that separated his room from Narcisse’s, and listened intently; then walked over to his bed, sat on the edge of it, took off his boots, held them aloof, and then let them fall on the floor; laid his coat across the foot of the bed, stood still for a few minutes, and then threw himself so heavily across the bed that it groaned loudly enough to be distinctly heard by Narcisse, who nodded his head in a satisfied manner.

Charlie lay on the top of the clothes, dressed, with the exception of his boots, hat, and coat, with his eyes wide open and his head bent in a listening attitude.  Presently the sound of falling boots in Narcisse’s room also brought a look of relief to Charlie’s face.  After hearing Narcisse blow out the light and get into bed, Charlie lay perfectly still.  An hour sped by; the only sounds to be heard were the cries of the wind as it tore through the branches of the tree whose long well-clad arms in summer protected Charlie’s room from the fierce rays of the sun.  At short intervals, the branches tapped on the window panes, as though craving protection from the storm.  Inside the house quietness reigned supreme.  From a distance one would have been sure Charlie was sleeping, but a closer inspection would have shown that his eyes were wide open.  It was 11.30.  Charlie quietly raised himself, pulled his coat to him, and took a railway time-table from it, then ran his finger down a portion of it.  The express left for the west at 12.05 a.m.  He drew a line around the figures, and put the table back into his pocket again.  Then he got out of bed, on tip-toe stole to his carpet-bag, which hung near the door, and quietly began to stow away in it his modest belongings.  So quietly did he gather up his things that not a mouse, except by sight, could have known that he was in the room.  Every now and then he would pause, with his face turned toward Narcisse’s room, and listen.  Twice a slight noise, which seemed to emanate from Narcisse’s