The train was crowded to its capacity.

Many had been turned away.

No, a louis would not be of avail.
The deepest grief and anguish filled his soul to see the predicament of Monsieur, but there was no relief.
Brock's miserable affectation of the English drawl soon gave way to sharp, emphatic Americanisms.

It was after eight o'clock and the train was well under way.

The street lamps were getting fewer and fewer, and the soft, fresh air of the suburbs was rushing through the window.
"But, hang it all, I _can't_ sit up all night!" growled Brock in exasperated finality.
"Monsieur forgets that he has a berth.