ge, which was to follow in a cart, the
carriage started.

Old Simon, the coachman, with his head held down and his back bent under
the rain, could hardly be seen in his three-caped coat; and the moaning
wind rattled against the windows and swept the rain along the road.

The horses trotted briskly down to the quay, passed the row of big
ships, whose masts and yards and ropes stood out against the gray sky
like bare trees, and entered the long Boulevard du Mont Riboudet. Soon
they reached the country, and from time to time the outline of a
weeping-willow, with its branches hanging in a corpse-like inertness,
could be vaguely seen through the watery mist. The horses' shoes
clattered on the road; and the four wheels made regular rings of mud.

Inside the carriage they were silent; their spirits seemed damped, like
the earth. The baroness leaned back, rested her head against the
cushions, and closed her eyes. The baron looked out mournfully at the
monotonous, wet fields, and Rosalie, with a parcel on her knees, sat
musing in the animal-like way in which the lower classes indulge. But
Jeanne felt herself revive under this warm rain like a plant which is
put into the open air after being shut up in a dark closet; and the
greatness of her joy seemed to prevent any sadness reaching her heart.
Although she did not speak, she wanted to sing and to put her hand
outside and drink the water with which it would be filled; and the
desolate look of the country only added to the enjoyment she felt at
being carried along so swiftly, and at feeling herself sheltered in the
midst of this deluge.

Under the ceaseless rain a cloud of steam rose from the backs of the two
horses.

The baroness gradually fell asleep; her face, surrounded by six stiff
curls, sank lower and lower, though it was partly sustained by the three
big waves of her neck, the last curves of which lost themselves in the
amplitude of her chest. Her head, raised by each respiration, as
regularly sank again; her cheeks puffed out, and from her half-opened
lips issued a deep snore. Her husband leaned over towards her and softly
placed in her hands, crossed on her ample lap, a leather pocket-book.
The touch awoke her, and she looked at the object in her lap with the
stupefied look of one suddenly aroused from sleep. The pocket-book fell
and opened, and the gold and bank-notes it contained were scattered all
over the carriage. That woke her up altogether, and the
light-hea