but at the smile she had for
him he visibly softened; and, with her dressing-bag slung by a strap
over his broad shoulder, made an aggressive shield of his stout body to
pilot her through the crowd.

Now she left behind the two Englishwomen and her French acquaintance,
for she was a passenger in the _luxe_, which started earlier than the
ordinary first-class train for Paris. The Frenchman hoped and believed
that she would regret his society, but she forgot him before the train
went out, having no premonition of any future meeting.

This, then, was what they called a _wagon lit_! She was delighted with
her quarters, supposing, as the compartment seemed small, that it was
entirely for her use during the journey. She had been told that she
would be provided with a bed, and she wondered how it was to be
arranged.

Darkness fell over France, but Mary felt that she could see through the
black veil, away to the south, where roses were budding in warm
sunshine. She was whole-heartedly glad, for the first time, to be out of
the convent.

If it had not been winter and night, she would perhaps have longed to
stop in Paris, but the sight of the great bleak Gare du Nord chilled
her. The ordeal of the _douane_ had to be gone through there, and Mary
was glad when it was over, and she could go on again, though she was
once more protected by a gallant porter; and a youngish official of the
customs, after a glance at her face, quickly marked crosses on her
luggage without opening it. Other women, older and not attractive, saw
this favouritism, and swelled with resentment, as Elinor Home-Davis had
when saying:

"_Is_ she the kind who can ever let men alone? She makes eyes at the
footman!"

Mary had never heard of "making eyes." One did not use these vulgar
expressions at the convent. But Peter would have known what Elinor
meant; and even Reverend Mother knew instinctively that, if Mary Grant
went out into the world, she would unconsciously influence all sorts and
conditions of men with whom she came in contact, as the moon influences
the tides. And Reverend Mother would have felt it safer for just such
creatures as Mary to live out their lives in the shelter of a convent.
But Mary thought only how kind Frenchmen even of the lower classes were,
and wondered if those of other nations were as polite. Slowly the train
took her round Paris, and, after what seemed a long time, stopped in
another huge station, which shivered under a whi