igure, scarcely half
his height, with no face and no arms, muffled and wrapped up like
a bundle and also covered with snow. A damp chill, as from a cellar,
seemed to come to the child from the coachman and the bundle, and
the fire and the candles flickered.

"What nonsense!" said the bundle angrily, "We could go perfectly
well. We have only nine more miles to go, mostly by the forest, and
we should not get lost. . . ."

"As for getting lost, we shouldn't, but the horses can't go on,
lady!" answered the coachman. "And it is Thy Will, O Lord! As though
I had done it on purpose!"

"God knows where you have brought me. . . . Well, be quiet. . . .
There are people asleep here, it seems. You can go. . . ."

The coachman put the portmanteau on the floor, and as he did so, a
great lump of snow fell off his shoulders. He gave a sniff and went
out.

Then the little girl saw two little hands come out from the middle
of the bundle, stretch upwards and begin angrily disentangling the
network of shawls, kerchiefs, and scarves. First a big shawl fell
on the ground, then a hood, then a white knitted kerchief. After
freeing her head, the traveller took off her pelisse and at once
shrank to half the size. Now she was in a long, grey coat with big
buttons and bulging pockets. From one pocket she pulled out a paper
parcel, from the other a bunch of big, heavy keys, which she put
down so carelessly that the sleeping man started and opened his
eyes. For some time he looked blankly round him as though he didn't
know where he was, then he shook his head, went to the corner and
sat down. . . . The newcomer took off her great coat, which made
her shrink to half her size again, she took off her big felt boots,
and sat down, too.

By now she no longer resembled a bundle: she was a thin little
brunette of twenty, as slim as a snake, with a long white face and
curly hair. Her nose was long and sharp, her chin, too, was long
and sharp, her eyelashes were long, the corners of her mouth were
sharp, and, thanks to this general sharpness, the expression of her
face was biting. Swathed in a closely fitting black dress with a
mass of lace at her neck and sleeves, with sharp elbows and long
pink fingers, she recalled the portraits of mediaeval English ladies.
The grave concentration of her face increased this likeness.

The lady looked round at the room, glanced sideways at the man and
the little girl, shrugged her shoulders, and moved to the wind