ed by the vicissitudes of the Revolution to
hide all, even the most insignificant, emotion. The moment the curved
end of the old triangular hat and the captain's epaulets were seen
by the occupants of the carriage, a voice of angelic sweetness said:
"Monsieur l'officier, will you have the kindness to tell us at what part
of the road we now are?"

There is some inexpressible charm in the question of an unknown
traveller, if a woman,--a world of adventure is in every word; but if
the woman asks for assistance or information, proving her weakness or
ignorance of certain things, every man is inclined to construct some
impossible tale which shall lead to his happiness. The words, "Monsieur
l'officier," and the polite tone of the question stirred the captain's
heart in a manner hitherto unknown to him. He tried to examine the lady,
but was cruelly disappointed, for a jealous veil concealed her features;
he could barely see her eyes, which shone through the gauze like onyx
gleaming in the sunshine.

"You are now three miles from Alencon, madame," he replied.

"Alencon! already!" and the lady threw herself, or, rather, she gently
leaned back in the carriage, and said no more.

"Alencon?" said the other woman, apparently waking up; "then you'll see
it again."

She caught sight of the captain and was silent. Merle, disappointed in
his hope of seeing the face of the beautiful incognita, began to examine
that of her companion. She was a girl about twenty-six years of age,
fair, with a pretty figure and the sort of complexion, fresh and white
and well-fed, which characterizes the women of Valognes, Bayeux, and the
environs of Alencon. Her blue eyes showed no great intelligence, but a
certain firmness mingled with tender feeling. She wore a gown of some
common woollen stuff. The fashion of her hair, done up closely under a
Norman cap, without any pretension, gave a charming simplicity to her
face. Her attitude, without, of course, having any of the conventional
nobility of society, was not without the natural dignity of a modest
young girl, who can look back upon her past life without a single cause
for repentance. Merle knew her at a glance for one of those wild
flowers which are sometimes taken from their native fields to Parisian
hot-houses, where so many blasting rays are concentrated, without ever
losing the purity of their color or their rustic simplicity. The naive
attitude of the girl and her modest glance showed Merle v