“How they will laugh at Strasbourg at my mistake.”

“That they will,” thought I.  “The only doubt is, will you join in the merriment?”

So saying, I followed the courier to the door, jumped into his caleche, and in another moment was hurrying over the pave at a pace that defied pursuit, and promised soon to make up for all our late delay.  Scarcely was the fur-lined apron of the caleche buttoned around me, and the German blinds let down, when I set to work to think over the circumstance that had just befallen me.  As I had never examined my passport from the moment Trevanion handed it to me in Paris, I knew nothing of its contents; therefore, as to what impression it might convey of me, I was totally ignorant.  To ask the courier for it now might excite suspicion; so that I was totally at sea how to account for his sudden change in my favour, or in what precise capacity I was travelling beside him.  Once, and once only, the thought of treachery occurred to me.  Is he about to hand me over to the gens-d’armes? and are we now only retracing our steps towards Nancy?  If so, Monsieur le Courier, whatever be my fate, your’s is certainly an unenviable one.  My reflections on this head were soon broken in upon, for my companion again returned to the subject of his “singular error,” and assured me that he was as near as possible leaving me behind, under the mistaken impression of my being “myself;” and informed me that all Strasbourg would be delighted to see me, which latter piece of news was only the more flattering, that I knew no one there, nor had ever been in that city in my life; and after about an hour’s mystification as to my tastes, habits, and pursuits, he fell fast asleep, leaving me to solve the difficult problem as to whether I was not somebody else, or the only alternative—­whether travelling en courier might not be prescribed by physicians as a mode of treating insane patients.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

A night in Strasbourg.

With the dawn of day my miseries recommenced; for after letting down the sash, and venting some very fervent imprecations upon the postillion for not going faster than his horses were able, the courier once more recurred to his last night’s blunder, and proceeded very leisurely to catechise me as to my probable stay at Strasbourg, when I should go from there, &c.  As I was still in doubt what or whom he took me for, I answered with the greatest circumspection—­watching, the while, for any clue that might lead me to a discovery of myself.  Thus, occasionally evading all pushing and home queries, and sometimes, when hard pressed, feigning drowsiness, I passed the long and anxious day—­the fear of being overtaken ever mingling with the thoughts that some unlucky admission of mine might discover my real character to the courier, who, at any post station, might hand me over to the authorities.