A jingling of bells, a clatter of hoofs from five spirited bays harnessed in Russian fashion, and hardly seeming to touch the earth as they fly along, a rattle of wheels, a whirling cloud of dust,--and Oswald Lodrin's five-in-hand came sweeping round a corner in one of the old-fashioned streets in Rautschin. People ran from everywhere to stare,--a housemaid cleaning a window, leaned out at the risk of her neck, to follow the gay equipage; two small boys going home from school, paused and vented their delight in waving their caps and cheering; Oswald nodded to them kindly. His eyes were aglow with happiness, he had a white rosebud in his button-hole. His future father-in-law sat beside him in the driver's seat, and Georges was on the seat behind. It was the day before the election. Oswald had just come from Castle Rautschin, where, according to agreement, he was to pick up his uncle to drive with him to the railway station, and he had taken this opportunity to display his new five-in-hand to his betrothed. The five horses clattered along gaily, as if to the races, instead of to a railway station. "We must hurry, there is the signal," said Georges half rising from his seat, to gaze in the direction of the station. "Don't be afraid," rejoined Oswald, "it is an Express, to be sure, but if it sees us coming, it will wait!" "True! I forgot we were in Austria," said Georges laughing. The bays flew like birds along the avenue of ancient poplars. The sun shone on their trim, plain harness, upon their glossy hides; white and blue butterflies were fluttering above the earliest wayside-flowers. A few minutes later Oswald drew up before the station, built Austrian-wise, after the ugly fashion of a Swiss cottage. "Sapristi! He too is going to the election," exclaimed Georges, as he observed Capriani's equipage. "You may be very sure he will not hide his light under a bushel," grumbled Truyn. "And I quite forgot to have a railway coupe reserved for us. Did you remember it, uncle?" asked Oswald. Time passed. Oswald's servant hurried off to get the tickets, and when the gentlemen went to take their places, they found that there were but two first-class coupe's, one occupied by a lady with her invalid daughter, the other by the Caprianis, father and son. What was to be done? It was most vexatious; the three gentlemen, with their servants bearing portmanteaux and dust-coats, the station master and the conductor, all stood on the platform in consultation, while the train patiently waited. The third signal whistled, Conte Capriani appeared at the door of his coupe with a smile of invitation. Georges calmly shifted his cigar from one corner to the other of his mouth. "Better open an empty second-class for us," said Truyn frowning. "I have none quite empty," the conductor explained; "but this gentleman will get out at the third station."