For an English
listener, however, it is an excellent lesson in colloquial French;
only I cannot help wishing that they would take the "_tempo_" just a
little slower, and that their tone were not necessarily up to concert
pitch, in order to keep itself well above the running accompaniment
of railway-wheels, which seems to fit all modes of counting from two
to sixteen in a bar. At last the train stops, the dialogue becomes
jerky, our companion salutes us politely, wishes us "_bon voyage_" and
descends.
After his departure, I ask DAUBINET, "Who is your friend?" as I should
like to know the reason of DAUBINET not having introduced us. His
reply at once resolves all my doubts and difficulties on the subject;
it is simply, "Heaven knows! He is a nice fellow. I have met him
_quelque part. Ah! v'la!_" He rushes to the window. "Hi! hi! Guard!
Conducteur!" The Conducteur appears, and informs us that we descend at
the next station, and, after that, in another five minutes we shall be
at Reims.
And so we are. Reims at last! Not brilliant is Reims on this dark
night. There are several omnibuses and other vehicles waiting to
take the very few passengers who alight from the train, and who, it
appears, as a rule, prefer to walk. Having no baggage beyond a few
bags and a small portmanteau which travel with us in our compartment,
and which the porter can wheel on a truck, or indeed carry if he
chooses, we are soon in the 'bus, and rattling over the stones to the
Hotel.
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