age only approaches youth from a discreditable motive.

This woman was not the mother of my incognita; so sweet a flower could
not grow upon such a rugged bush. I heard the antique say in the
humblest tone, "Mlle, if you wish, I will put down the blind; the
cinders might hurt you."

Doubtless she was some relative; for a grisette never has a companion,
and duennas pertain exclusively to Spanish infantas.

Was my grisette simply an adventuress, graced by a hired mother to give
her an air of respectability? No, there was the seal of simple honesty
stamped upon her whole person; a care in the details of her simple
toilet, which separated her from that venturous class. A wandering
princess would not show such exactitude in her dress; she would betray
herself by a ragged shawl worn over a new dress, by silk stockings with
boots down at heel, by something ripped and out of order. Besides, the
old woman did not take snuff nor smell of brandy.

I made these observations in less time than it takes to write them,
through Alfred's inexhaustible chatter, who imagines, like many people,
that you are vexed if the conversation flags an instant. Besides,
between you and me, I think he wished to impress these women with an
idea of his importance, for he talked to me of the whole world. I do not
know how it happened, but this whirlwind of words seemed to interest my
incognita, who had all along remained quietly ensconced in her corner.
The few words uttered by her were not at all remarkable; an observation
upon a mass of great black clouds piled up in a corner of the horizon
that threatened a shower; but I was charmed with the fresh and silvery
tone of her voice. The music of the words--it is going to
rain--penetrated my soul like an air from Bellini, and I felt something
stir in my heart, which, well cultivated, might turn into love.

The locomotive soon devoured the distance between Mantos and Pont de
l'Arche. An abominable scraping of iron and twisting of brakes was
heard, and the train stopped. I was terribly alarmed lest the grisette
and her companion should continue their route, but they got out at the
station. O Roger wasn't I a happy dog? While they were employed in
hunting up some parcel, the vehicle which runs between the station and
Pont de l'Arche left, weighed down with trunks and travellers; so that
the two women and myself were compelled, in spite of the weather, to
walk to Pont de l'Arche. Large drops began to sprink