"Ah, my friend, look—look!" she cried. "There will be passengers from Paris. Oh! I hope it is full. No—what a pity! There are only four. See then, Jean Jacques, the fat old man with the nose. It is redder than Gargoulet’s and one would have said that was impossible. And the little man like a rat. Fie! he has a wicked eye, that one—I declare he winked at me"; and she drew back, darting a virtuously coquettish glance at the unperturbed Jean Jacques. "Not he," he observed with complete tranquillity. "Calm thyself, Madelon. Thou art no longer the prettiest girl in Rancy, but a sober matron. Thy winking days are over." "My winking days!" exclaimed Madelon,—"my winking days indeed!" She tossed her head with feigned displeasure and leaned out again, wide-eyed. A third passenger had just alighted, and stood by the door of the diligence holding out a hand to some one yet unseen. "Seigneur!" cried Madelon maliciously; "look there, Jean Jacques, if that is not a fine man!" "What, the rat?" grinned the miller. "No, stupid!—the handsome man by the door there, he with the tricolour sash. Ciel! what a sash! What can he be, then,—a Deputy, thinkest thou? Oh, I hope he is a Deputy. There, now there is a woman getting out—he helps her down, and now he turns this way. They are coming in. Eh! what blue eyes he has! Well, I would not have him angry with me, that one; I should think his eyes would scorch like lightning." "Eh, Madelon, how you talk!" "There, they are on the step. Hold me then, Jean Jacques, or I shall fall. Do you think the woman is his wife? How white she is!—but quite young, not older than I. And her hair—oh, but that is pretty! I wish I had hair like that—all gold in the sun." "Thy hair is well enough," said the enamoured Jean Jacques. "There, come back a little, Madelon, or thou wilt fall out. They are coming in." Madelon turned from the window to watch the door, and in a minute Dangeau and Aline came in. For a moment Aline looked timidly round, then seeing the pleasant face and shining brown eyes of the miller’s wife, she made her way gratefully towards her, and sat down on the rough bench which ran along the wall. Madelon disengaged herself from her husband’s arm, gave him a little push in Dangeau’s direction, and sat down too, asking at once, with a stare of frank curiosity: "You are from Paris? All the way from Paris?" "Yes, from Paris," said Aline rather wearily. "Ciel! That is a distance to come. Are you not tired?" "Just a little, perhaps."