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One afternoon at a little village there was a look of festival; the bells were ringing, everybody was hurrying to the church, and when we stopped at the door of the inn my brother came to the carriage-window and said he was afraid that we should not find it easy to proceed at once, for a mission priest was holding a station, and no one seemed able to attend to anything else.

One day, about four o'clock, Madame Desvarennes was going to Saint-Cloud on business, and was crossing the Bois de Boulogne. Her coachman had chosen the most unfrequented paths to save time. She had opened the carriage-window, and was enjoying the lovely scent from the shrubs. Suddenly a watering-cart stopped the way.

Every few minutes, so it seemed to me, though in reality the intervals may perhaps have been longer, a ghostly face would appear at the carriage-window, and ask to see our tickets.

She leaned from the carriage-window, and said to the poor child: "Have you a mother, my dear?" "No, my lady, I have neither father nor mother." "Who takes care of you?" "No one, my lady. They give me nosegays to sell, and I must bring home money or they beat me." "Poor little thing!"

I stood for a while amid a storm of sacre-ing, tempered disagreeably with laughter; and in the midst of these, while endeavoring to beat the dust from my clothes with my handkerchief, I heard a voice with which I was acquainted call, "Monsieur Beckett." I looked and saw the Marquis peeping from a carriage-window. It was a welcome sight. In a moment I was at his carriage side.

Sir John, his head and shoulders well outside the carriage-window, did not answer. Probably he did not hear. As the train ran into M Station and came to a standstill, Mr. Molesworth caught a glimpse of the station-master, in his gold-braided cap, by the door of the booking-office. He wore a grave, almost a scared look.

They had had the carriage to themselves all the way from Crewe to Carlisle, and he had hardly spoken a word to her. If he would have rated her soundly for her wickednesses, she could have made something of that. She could have thrown herself on her knees, and implored his pardon; or, if hard pressed, have suggested the propriety of throwing herself out of the carriage-window.

When he drives through your street, he can put his head out of the carriage-window and stand a chance of seeing you just coming in at the front gate. Also, if you write your biography yourself, you can have your choice as to what shall go in and what shall stay out.

Then he took Rosamund down to her brougham with a silent formality that touched her present sentimental mood. She leaned from her carriage-window, looking at him where he stood, hat in hand, in the thickly falling snow. "Please without ceremony, Mr. Lansing." And, as he covered himself, "May I not drop you at your destination?" "Thank you" in refusal.

"Ask God to bless me, father dearest," the soft, tremulous voice pleaded, "for the sake of my dead mother." She tried to see his face: but she could not. His head was turned away, and he was busy making some alteration in the adjustment of the carriage-window.