My passport went through the office of the American embassy,
prefecture of the police, and the _bureau des affaires etrangeres_,
and the Swiss legation, and we were all right for the frontier.
Our fair hostesses are all Alpine mountaineers, posted up in mountain
lore. They make you look blank one moment with horror at some escape
of theirs from being dashed down a precipice; the next they run you a
rig indeed over the Righi; anon you shamble through Chamounix, and
break your neck over the Col-de-balme, and, before you are aware, are
among the lacking at Interlachen.
Wednesday, June 22. Adieu to Paris! Ho for Chalons sur Saone! After
affectionate farewells of our kind friends, by eleven o'clock we were
rushing, in the pleasantest of cars, over the smoothest of rails,
through Burgundy that was; I reading to H. out of Dumas'
_Impressions de Voyage_, going over our very route. We arrived at
Chalons at nine in the evening, and were soon established in the Hotel
du Park, in two small, brick-floored chambers, looking out upon the
steamboat landing.
Thursday, 23. Eight o'clock A. M. Since five we have had a fine bustle
on the quay below our windows.
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