ust, wheel
tracks left by the recent passage of some vehicle. Some half an
hour later these traces were verified by the sight of a ponderous
carriage mired in a little brook at the bottom of a steep hill.
The driver and postilions were shouting and tugging at the horses'
bridles. On the road at one side stood a huge, black-clothed man and
a slender lady wrapped in a long, light cloak.

David saw the lack of skill in the efforts of the servants. He
quietly assumed control of the work. He directed the outriders to
cease their clamour at the horses and to exercise their strength
upon the wheels. The driver alone urged the animals with his
familiar voice; David himself heaved a powerful shoulder at the
rear of the carriage, and with one harmonious tug the great vehicle
rolled up on solid ground. The outriders climbed to their places.

David stood for a moment upon one foot. The huge gentleman waved a
hand. "You will enter the carriage," he said, in a voice large, like
himself, but smoothed by art and habit. Obedience belonged in the
path of such a voice. Brief as was the young poet's hesitation, it
was cut shorter still by a renewal of the command. David's foot went
to the step. In the darkness he perceived dimly the form of the lady
upon the rear seat. He was about to seat himself opposite, when the
voice again swayed him to its will. "You will sit at the lady's
side."

The gentleman swung his great weight to the forward seat. The
carriage proceeded up the hill. The lady was shrunk, silent, into
her corner. David could not estimate whether she was old or young,
but a delicate, mild perfume from her clothes stirred his poet's
fancy to the belief that there was loveliness beneath the mystery.
Here was an adventure such as he had often imagined. But as yet he
held no key to it, for no word was spoken while he sat with his
impenetrable companions.

In an hour's time David perceived through the window that the
vehicle traversed the street of some town. Then it stopped in front
of a closed and darkened house, and a postilion alighted to hammer
impatiently upon the door. A latticed window above flew wide and a
nightcapped head popped out.

"Who are ye that disturb honest folk at this time of night? My house
is closed. 'Tis too late for profitable travellers to be abroad.
Cease knocking at my door, and be off."

"Open!" spluttered the postilion, loudly; "open for Monsiegneur the
Marquis de Beaupertuys."

"Ah!" cried the