de the carriage?" he said, "you would at least be under cover."

It had never occurred to them, and they made a rush for it. The three
men packed their wives into the upper end and then got in themselves,
after which other distinct and veiled forms took the remaining seats
without exchanging a word.

The floor of the vehicle was covered with straw into which the feet
sank. The ladies at the end, who had brought little copper charcoal
foot-warmers, proceeded to light them, and for some time discussed their
merits in subdued tones, repeating to one another things which they had
known all their lives.

At last, the diligence having been furnished with six horses instead of
four on account of the difficulties of the road, a voice outside asked,
"Is everybody here?" A voice from within answered "Yes," and they
started.

The conveyance advanced slowly--slowly--the wheels sinking in the snow;
the whole vehicle groaned and creaked, the horses slipped, wheezed, and
smoked, and the driver's gigantic whip cracked incessantly, flying from
side to side, twining and untwining like a slender snake, and cutting
sharply across one or other of the six humping backs, which would
thereupon straighten up with a more violent effort.

Imperceptibly the day grew. The airy flakes which a traveler--a
Rouennais "pur sang"--once likened to a shower of cotton, had ceased to
fall; a dirty gray light filtered through the heavy thick clouds which
served to heighten the dazzling whiteness of the landscape, where now a
long line of trees crusted with icicles would appear, now a cottage with
a hood of snow.

In the light of this melancholy dawn the occupants of the diligence
began to examine one another curiously.

Right at the end, in the best seats, opposite to one another, dozed
Madame and Monsieur Loiseau, whole-sale wine merchant of the Rue Grand
Pont.

The former salesman of a master who had become bankrupt, Loiseau had
bought up the stock and made his fortune. He sold very bad wine at very
low prices to the small country retail dealers, and enjoyed the
reputation among his friends and acquaintances of being an unmitigated
rogue, a thorough Norman full of trickery and jovial humor.

His character for knavery was so well established that one evening at
the Prefecture, Monsieur Tournel, a man of keen and trenchant wit,
author of certain fables and songs--a local glory--seeing the ladies
growing drowsy, proposed a game of "L'oiseau vole."[1