head to be touched, and he had plenty of hairs on his head, for though he was middle-aged he was marvellously well preserved,—it runs in the family.
M. de P—— had nothing to fear, but I was not at all easy in my mind when we drove up to the gates of Antwerp. My merchandise, my papers, my name, my person, were all contraband. The carriage stopped before the lodge of the customs officer, the door was opened, and an officer put his head in and asked the usual question. It was evening, and he carried a lighted candle in his hand. I seized my companion's arm and whispered to him, "Leave everything to me; don't speak, and above all don't laugh." Then having, on the spur of the moment, devised the little comedy I was about to play, I began my part.
"Ah, my dear Durand, how are you?" I cried, stretching forth my hand in the most friendly manner to the customs officer,—whom I had never seen before. "So they have sent you here now."
The man replied, as I had fully ex-