Mrs. Rochester managed everything very adroitly. She had authorized her daughter to be on the lookout for the carriage far down the avenue, and order it to be driven to a rarely used side-entrance of the chateau. Then she conducted Salome to it by a private staircase, and she was off without any one, save those two women, knowing that a carriage had come and gone. The poor heart-broken girl heaved a sigh of relief when the vehicle passed out of the villa grounds upon the highway, and, throwing herself back among the cushions, she gave way to a passionate burst of weeping. Salome was so exhausted by her weeping and the excitement of leaving the villa, that she soon dropped into a doze, and did not awake until the carriage stopped so suddenly as to almost throw her off her seat. It was quite dark and she could only distinguish objects indistinctly, but she saw that she was in a broad, quiet street, where there seemed to be fine residences within inclosures that were ornamented with trees and shrubs. The driver just then made his appearance at the window, a look of well-assumed distress on his face. “Pardon, mademoiselle,” he said, “but one of the traces has parted—it will detain us a little.” “Ah, can it be mended easily?” Salome questioned nervously, for it was so dark that she was very anxious to reach home and Harriet. “Perhaps—we will see,” and the man disappeared. Presently she heard him muttering angrily to himself, as if he had discovered more mischief than he had at first seen, and then a gentleman came slowly out from the inclosure near by, and made some inquiries in a kindly tone, though Salome could not catch his words. The driver explained his trouble with much volubility and irritation, and with many profuse regrets on account of the “annoyance to mademoiselle, the sister.” Presently the gentleman made his appearance at the carriage window, and lifting his hat, respectfully addressed her. “Pardon, sister,” he began; “the coachman says he must take one of the horses and go on to his stable to get a new trace; it seems not the right thing for a lady to sit alone in the street at this hour of the evening. My residence is just here, and at your service; my wife will be charmed to entertain you while you wait. Will the sister do me the favor to accept my hospitality, while the driver attends to the broken harness?” “Thanks, monsieur,” returned Salome thoughtfully. Then she asked, “is it far to the Rue de——?” “Mon Dieu!” responded the gentleman, in a tone of surprise, “the sister will have to ride more than a mile yet.” Salome sighed regretfully. She knew that her strength would not allow her to walk such a distance, and she must, perforce, wait until the return of the man. She did not like the idea of sitting there alone in the street; neither did she like to trust herself with an entire stranger, even though she believed that her nun’s costume would protect her against wrong or insult.