“Let that alone⁠—will you?” said a voice in good English; then, in correction, “ Qu’est-ce que vous faîtes donc? Cette malle est à moi. ” 3

But I had heard the Fatherland accents; they rejoiced my heart; I turned: “Sir,” said I, appealing to the stranger, without, in my distress, noticing what he was like, “I cannot speak French. May I entreat you to ask this man what he has done with my trunk?”

Without discriminating, for the moment, what sort of face it was to which my eyes were raised and on which they were fixed, I felt in its expression half-surprise at my appeal and half-doubt of the wisdom of interference.

“ Do ask him; I would do as much for you,” said I.