t moment a flash of lightning, herald of a quickly approaching
storm, lit up the night, and I perceived that there was no one in the
coach excepting myself. I burst out into a roar of laughter, and yet a
moment later I could not help wondering what had become of No. 1.

A half hour later we arrived at the first stop, and I was just about to
ask the guard who flashed his lantern into the compartment why there
was no No. 1, when she entered. In the yellow rays I thought it was a
vision: a pale, graceful, beautiful woman, dressed in deep mourning.

Here was the fulfillment of my dream, the widow I had hoped for.

I extended my hand to the unknown to assist her into the coach, and she
sat down beside me, murmuring: "Thank you, sir. Good evening," but in a
tone that was so sad that it went to my very heart.

"How unfortunate," I thought. "There are only fifty miles between here
and Malaga. I wish to heaven this coach were going to Kamschatka." The
guard slammed the door, and we were in darkness. I wished that the
storm would continue and that we might have a few more flashes of
lightning. But the storm didn't. It fled away, leaving only a few
pallid stars, whose light practically amounted to nothing. I made a
brave effort to start a conversation.

"Do you feel well?"

"Are you going to Malaga?"

"Did you like the Alhambra?"

"You come from Granada?"

"Isn't the night damp?"

To which questions she respectively responded:

"Thanks, very well."

"Yes."

"No, sir."

"Yes!"

"Awful!"

It was quite certain that my traveling companion was not inclined to
conversation. I tried to think up something original to say to her, but
nothing occurred to me, so I lost myself for the moment in meditation.
Why had this woman gotten on the stage at the first stop instead of at
Granada? Why was she alone? Was she married? Was she really a widow?
Why was she so sad? I certainly had no right to ask her any of these
questions, and yet she interested me. How I wished the sun would rise.
In the daytime one may talk freely, but in the pitch darkness one feels
a certain oppression, it seems like taking an unfair advantage.

My unknown did not sleep a moment during the night. I could tell this
by her breathing and by her sighing. It is probably unnecessary to add
that I did not sleep either. Once I asked her: "Do you feel ill?" and
she replied: "No, sir, thank you. I beg pardon if I have disturbed your
sleep."

"Sleep!" I excla