Every now and again the man leans forward and urges on the driver, then, after a quick glance on the road, which winds far away behind them, he sinks back upon his seat.
They halt and change horses in a quaint little village, where old women and maidens ply their antique spinning-wheels at the cottage doors, and blue-bloused loungers puff their sous cigars on wooden forms before the auberge. They do not alight, but the gentleman brings the lady a tiny glass of the liqueur called ‘Bénédictin,’ and some wine biscuits. She sips the liqueur and breaks a biscuit, while the loungers in blue blouses look on in admiration.
The young lady is very pale, and looks so young that the loungers whisper wonderingly at each other. Now and then her lip quivers, and her eyes fill with tears. The gentleman with her watches her anxiously, trying to anticipate every look and wish, but she scarcely looks at him—her thoughts are far away.
‘How far to Fécamp?’ the gentleman asks of the ostler, as he slips the pour-boire into his hand; and when he finds that it is still many kilometres away, and that it is impossible to reach it in less than three or four hours, he mutters an imprecation.
There is a quick, cat-like look in his eyes, as he converses with the world at large; but when he turns to his companion the look is exchanged for one of touching humility and sweetness.
They are ready to start again, the driver is in his place, when the young lady springs up and cries in French, ‘Arrêtez!’ The gentleman, who is again seated by her side, looks at her in astonishment, ‘Madeline! mon ange!’
She answers him in English.
‘It is not too late—let us turn and go back. I am sorry now I came away. Monsieur Belleisle, I insist on turning back.’
‘Mais non!’
‘Madame Collemache will forgive me—I will go upon my knees and ask her—Madame is a good woman. Oh, why did you ask me to do anything so foolish? Look how these people are staring! Turn back at once!’