As she struggled hurriedly out of the limousine without waiting for the assistance of François, the other passengers craned their necks to see what the excitement was. And as they looked, a startling checkered device that was instantly recognized as Mrs. Potter's slumber-robe fluttered out over the heads of the jostling multitude, where it waved proudly for a moment, and was then gathered back into the hands of an individual standing on the top of a rudely constructed counter about which the crowd was clustered. And as he spread the silken folds over his arm so that all might see it to better advantage, he began to cry out in the loud voice of an auctioneer: "One dollar, one dollar, one dollar--one dollar, one dollar, one dollar--I am offered only one dollar for this be-e-eautiful garment that a certain rich lady--you all know her--bought in the large city of Rochester; I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar--she told me herself only this morning that it cost FIVE!--and yet I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar, ONE DOLLAR!--I will put it back in stock before I will sell it for such a ridic'lous figger. You don't know what you're missin'." He slung it on a line stretched above his head, and turning to a corps of assistants who were waiting on a clamoring public (composed of neighborhood domestics and Italians from across the railroad tracks), sang out: "Hand up something else, men! We must slaughter this stock to aid the sufferin' Belgiums! We must aid the dessolute Belgiums!"--and he held up a pink "wrapper."--"Now, what am I offered to start this to aid the dessolute--" The crowd parted, and fell back on either side, opening up a passage for a woman in white who went rapidly towards the counter, in front of which she came to a stop. At the sight of her, patrons of the sale tucked their purchases under their coats and departed in haste, and the auctioneer paused with his mouth open as if a word had stuck halfway out. The pink "wrapper" fell from his nerveless hand, and the gambler's-plaids in which he was clad became as slack and empty-looking as a fallen tent. Everything about him seemed to wilt except his remarkable shoes; and they were as long, and as large, and as liver-shaped after her coming as before. For one long minute she gazed at the auctioneer; and as she gazed the clerks vanished, the multitude melted away, the auctioneer slid down from his perch and shuffled towards the house, and the limousine gnashed its gears, cleared its throat, and swept down the street. And all that was left was the unspeakable litter incident to a successful rummage-sale, the boxes and boards of the improvised counter, a few odds and ends of stock, and above all, fluttering in the breeze, the gorgeous slumber-robe that Mrs. Potter had picked up in Paris.