The day's
ride, however, was memorable with novelty; and when we saw Mont
Martre, and its moth-like windmills, telling us we were coming to
Paris, it was almost with regret at the swiftness of the hours. We
left the cars, and flowed with the tide into the Salle d'Attente, to
wait till the baggage was sorted. Then came the famous ceremony of
unlocking. The officer took my carpet bag first, and poked his hand
down deep in one end.
"What is this?"
"That is my collar box."
"_Ah, ca_" And he put it back hastily, and felt of my travelling
gown. "What is this?"
"Only a wrapping gown."
"_Ah, ca_" After fumbling a little more, he took sister H.'s bag,
gave a dive here, a poke there, and a kind of promiscuous rake with
his five fingers, and turned to the trunk. There he seemed somewhat
dubious. Eying the fine silk and lace dresses,--first one, then the
other,--"Ah, ah!" said he, and snuffed a little. Then he peeped under
this corner, and cocked his eye under that corner; then, all at once,
plunged his arm down at one end of the trunk, and brought up a little
square box. "What's that?" said he. He unrolled and was about to open
it, when suddenly he seemed to be seized with an emotion of
confidence.
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