“We are tired, and so is Flambeau,” she said faintly. Then she scrambled up somehow into the back of the coach, and Jean followed her. “We are going to Melon and beyond toward Paris. I have cousins near Melon,” Jean said to the man, and this was true. There was only one other passenger in the cart, a fat market woman who kept muttering to herself, and every now and then leaning over a wooden box at her feet and saying, “Hush your gab. You’ll squawk all the way to Paris, I know you will.” The very disagreeable noise of imprisoned hens answered her. Marie Josephine remembered feeling sorry for the hens, and then she knew nothing more, for she fell into the deepest sleep she had ever known. She woke suddenly, sat bolt upright, and rubbed her eyes. When she had fallen asleep she had felt the sun on her face, but as she woke the soft glimmer of stars greeted her. Jean was awake. He sat up beside the driver of the coach, talking busily. It was Flambeau’s caress which had roused her. He was lying close beside her. The hens were quiet and the woman was asleep. The kind man who drove the coach was smoking a pipe. Outside in the dusk the good-night call of birds came to them drowsily. “You have to be very still when you catch them or you will frighten them away,” Jean was saying. “I always let them go. They are such dear little things I always free them after just a little while.” He seemed to be having the best kind of a time sitting up there by the driver. Marie Josephine hoped he would be very careful what he said, he was such a little chatterbox. It had been so strange waking that way in the coach, for she had been dreaming of Lisle and had seen his face so vividly in her dream. He had on the velvet robes of the “Sun King,” and the jewels in his sword had sparkled as they had done on the night that he had sat beside her on the bed and told her that she was going to Les Vignes. What would he say if he could see her now? He would not even know that this funny, dirty girl was his little sister, Marie Josephine! She had become used to the idea that she was going to run away to Paris. But in spite of her imagination she had somehow never quite been able to visualize it. Now it was a reality! She thought so much of the hidden cellar and of all that grandfather had told her that spring day so long ago. “It is to be your secret unless by disclosing it you can save a life,” he had said. Paris, and all that was happening there, seemed like a bad dream. She had never really believed that anything could happen to her mother and Lisle. She often thought of the “other one” who knew of the cellar, and wondered if that person was helping, too. The waiting at Les Vignes for news of maman and Lisle had been more than she could bear. The cart stopped with a jerk, and the driver turned his head. “Are you awake back there in the cart? Do you hear me, girl?” he asked. “We’re almost at Melon. Are you going on to your cousins, or what will you do?”