They have their instructions, Roxbury.
Doesn't it sound odd to you ?" Brock was icy-cold with apprehension as they walked down the line of _wagon-lits_ in the wake of the bag-bearers.

Mrs.Medcroft was as self-possessed and as _degage_ as he was ill at ease and awkward.

As they ascended the steps of the carriage, she turned back to him and said, with the most malicious twinkle in her eyes,-- "I'm not a bit nervous." "But you've been married so much longer than I have," he responded.
Then came the disposition of the bags and parcels.

She calmly directed the porters to put the overflow into the upper berth.

The _garde_ came up to remonstrate in his most rapid French.
"But where is M'sieur to sleep if the bags go up there ?" he argued.
Mrs.Medcroft dropped her toilet bag and turned to Brock with startled eyes, her lips parted.