Monsieur went to answer it and soon returned saying the coachman had come back, but without having succeeded in getting his harness mended; neither had he been able to replace the broken trace with a whole one, for there was a grand wedding, and every horse, carriage, and harness belonging to his employer was in use. Mademoiselle would have to wait where she was until morning, and then he would come for her. Salome started to her feet in dismay at this intelligence. “Oh, no, I cannot!” she cried; “I must get home. Why did he not go elsewhere and send me another carriage?” “Surely he might have done so,” monsieur returned; “but the stupid fellow evidently did not think of such a thing, and at once rode away after explaining the situation.” “What shall I do?” Salome exclaimed, in a troubled tone. “Pray—pray do not be so disturbed; Sister Angela is most welcome to a lodging here, if she will so honor us,” said madam cordially. “And it is late,” interposed monsieur, glancing at his watch—“after ten. I beg the sister will make herself at home, and accept our hospitality as freely as it is offered.” Salome looked from one to the other. Both faces were frank and smiling, and yet, in spite of their apparent kindness, she shrank with a feeling of distrust from remaining with them over night. But what could she do? She was helpless. Her coachman had gone, and she could not go out by herself at that hour of the evening to seek another carriage. If monsieur had but offered to send for one, or to have her taken home in his own; but he did not, and she was too timid to ask the favor of him. So, after considering their proposition for a moment, she thanked them for their hospitality, said she would remain, and requested that she might be allowed to retire immediately. Madam arose with alacrity, and said that she would herself attend her to her chamber. She led her within the house, and up a long stairway to the second story, where the corridor seemed to be cut off from some other portion of the house by portières. Here she opened a door and ushered her into a small room that was simply but very neatly furnished. She provided Salome with a night-dress, remarking that she would find towels and toilet articles in a drawer of the dressing-case; then, bidding her a kind and cheerful good-night, she left the room, quietly closing the door after her and noiselessly turning the well-oiled lock until the bolt shot into its socket. Salome was very weary as well as homesick, and, quickly undressing, crept into bed and was soon sleeping soundly. When she awoke in the morning, the sun was shining brightly into her room, and she felt her spirits rise under the influence of its genial rays. In a little while she would be safe with Harriet, and then her troubles would be over.