Suddenly and without the slightest premonition save a violent pain in the temples she would fall into a profound slumber-like languor, from which she would awake in a few moments a totally different being. She was now as gay and cheery as she had formerly been morose. Her imagination was over-excited. Instead of being indifferent to everything, she had become alive to excess.
Sometimes we passed a house, or rumbled through a village, stopping perhaps to arouse some drowsy postmaster, who appeared at the door in shirt and pantaloons, yawning, received the mail, returned it again, and was yawning when last seen. A few words exchanged among the passengers, as they roused themselves from their half-slumbers, or dreamy, slumber-like abstraction.
But the atmosphere gave the dominant thought, a strange slumber-like seclusion. So rich and golden, it shut this little corner of the world in a sort of happy valley of its own, and the smoke from my pipe drifted dreamily astern, a natural incense to the spirits of the spot. The passengers suggested anything, from a public picnic to an early exploration party.