‘How far to Fécamp?’ the gentleman asks of the ostler, as he slips the _pour-boire_ into his hand; and when he finds that it is still many kilometres away, and that it is impossible to reach it in less than three or four hours, he mutters an imprecation. There is a quick, cat-like look in his eyes, as he converses with the world at large; but when he turns to his companion the look is exchanged for one of touching humility and sweetness. They are ready to start again, the driver is in his place, when the young lady springs up and cries in French, ‘Arrêtez!’ The gentleman, who is again seated by her side, looks at her in astonishment, ‘Madeline! _mon ange!_’ She answers him in English. ‘It is not too late--let us turn and go back. I am sorry now I came away. Monsieur Belleisle, I _insist_ on turning back.’ ‘_Mais non!_’ ‘Madame Collemache will forgive me--I will go upon my knees and ask her--Madame is a good woman. Oh, why did you ask me to do anything so foolish? Look how these people are staring! Turn back at once!’ But, at a sign from the gentleman, the driver has started off, and they are soon leaving the village at full gallop. To comfort her, Monsieur slips his hand round her waist. He is not prepared for the result, which came in the shape of a sharp slap in the face from the little gloved hand. ‘How dare you? I will not be pulled about, and I will go back to Madame. If you are a gentleman you will take me back at once.’ Monsieur rubs his cheek and tries to smile, but there is an angry light in his eyes nevertheless. ‘You are cruel, and I--ah, how I love you! Have you not promised to be my little wife? Mine own Madeline!’ He is about to embrace her again, but the look in her face deters him. ‘I was angry with Madame because I thought her cruel and unjust. She made me mad, and so I listened to you. Drive me back, Monsieur, and I will like you very much. I will take all the blame upon myself--only drive me back.’ ‘Do not speak so,’ is the reply. ‘We love each other--we will be happy--ah, so happy---with one another. Madeline! my bride!’ ‘I have changed my mind. I will not marry you, Monsieur Belleisle!’ ‘_Ah ciel_, you do not mean what you say!’ ‘I do mean it. Why should I marry you? I do not like you. I shall hate you soon.’ ‘It is too late to say that.’ ‘But it is true.’ ‘Ah, I will not beliefe it! You are triste--the journey make you triste and fatiguée--to-morrow you will smile again upon your own Auguste.’ ‘Pray don’t talk nonsense,’ answered the young lady. ‘I liked you very well when you gave me my lessons, and last night in my anger, in my wickedness, I thought I would come with you, because I wished to be revenged on Madame and Mademoiselle Blanche. But now I have repented, Monsieur. I was a little fool, and I will beg their pardon. They have been very kind to me. I was ungrateful. I will return.’