"Away you go again," said the lady. "Ten minutes lost, for which you must make up, while I will pay you the more."
When Gilbert came to his senses he found himself in the coach, swept along by three posthorses. He was not a little surprised, too, to be almost in the
lap of a young woman who attentively studied him.
She was not more than twenty-five. She had cheeks scorched by the southern sun, with a turn-up nose and gray eyes. A clear character of cunning and circumspection was given to her open and jovial countenance by the little mouth of delicate and fanciful design. Her arms, the finest in the world, were molded in violet velvet sleeves adorned with gilt buttons. Nearly the whole vehicle was filled up by the wavy folds of her large flower-patterned gray silk dress.
As the countenance was smiling and expressed interest, Gilbert stared for fear he was in a dream.
"Well, are you better, my little man?" asked she.
"Where am I?" counter-queried Gilbert, who had learned this phrase from novels, where alone it is used.
"In safety, my dear little fellow," replied the lady in a southern accent. "A while ago you ran great risk of being smashed under my carriage wheels. What happened you, to drop on the highroad right in the middle?"
"I swooned from having walked some eighteen leagues since four yesterday afternoon, or, rather, run."
"Whither are you bound?"