Mr. Watts came back into the compartment, and, standing on the step, said good-by to his sister, and embraced her. She kissed him affectionately. Then, having closed the carriage door, he stolidly resumed his seat, which was on the other side away from the door. We had the compartment to ourselves.

“A nice girl,” I reflected.

The train whistled, and a porter ran along to put the catches on all the doors.

“Good-by; we’re off,” I said to Miss Watts.

“Monsieur,” she said, and her face seemed to flush in the cold morning light, — ”monsieur.” Was she, then, French, to address me like that?

She made a gesture as if she would say