These were my half-waking thoughts, as the heavy diligence rumbled over the pave into Nancy; and I was aroused by the door being suddenly jerked open, and a bronzed face, with a black beard and moustache, being thrust in amongst us.
"Your passports, Messieurs," as a lantern was held up in succession across our faces, and we handed forth our crumpled and worn papers to the official.
The night was stormy and dark--gusts of wind sweeping along, bearing with them the tail of some thunder cloud--mingling their sounds with a falling tile from the roofs, or a broken chimney-pot.

The officer in vain endeavoured to hold open the passports while he inscribed his name; and just as the last scrawl was completed, the lantern went out.

Muttering a heavy curse upon the weather, he thrust them in upon us en masse, and, banging the door to, called out to the conducteur, "en route." Again we rumbled on, and, ere we cleared the last lamps of the town, the whole party were once more sunk in sleep, save myself.

Hour after hour rolled by, the rain pattering upon the roof, and the heavy plash of the horses' feet contributing their mournful sounds to the melancholy that was stealing over me.

At length we drew up at the door of a little auberge; and, by the noise and bustle without, I perceived there was a change of horses.