suddenly closed. All noise ceased.

The frozen townsmen were silent; they remained motionless, stiff with
cold.

A thick curtain of glistening white flakes fell ceaselessly to the
ground; it obliterated all outlines, enveloped all objects in an icy
mantle of foam; nothing was to be heard throughout the length and
breadth of the silent, winter-bound city save the vague, nameless rustle
of falling snow--a sensation rather than a sound--the gentle mingling of
light atoms which seemed to fill all space, to cover the whole world.

The man reappeared with his lantern, leading by a rope a
melancholy-looking horse, evidently being led out against his
inclination. The hostler placed him beside the pole, fastened the
traces, and spent some time in walking round him to make sure that the
harness was all right; for he could use only one hand, the other being
engaged in holding the lantern. As he was about to fetch the second
horse he noticed the motionless group of travellers, already white with
snow, and said to them: "Why don't you get inside the coach? You'd be
under shelter, at least."

This did not seem to have occurred to them, and they at once took his
advice. The three men seated their wives at the far end of the coach,
then got in themselves; lastly the other vague, snow-shrouded forms
clambered to the remaining places without a word.

The floor was covered with straw, into which the feet sank. The ladies
at the far end, having brought with them little copper foot-warmers
heated by means of a kind of chemical fuel, proceeded to light these,
and spent some time in expatiating in low tones on their advantages,
saying over and over again things which they had all known for a long
time.

At last, six horses instead of four having been harnessed to the
diligence, on account of the heavy roads, a voice outside asked: "Is
every one there?" To which a voice from the interior replied: "Yes," and
they set out.

The vehicle moved slowly, slowly, at a snail's pace; the wheels sank
into the snow; the entire body of the coach creaked and groaned; the
horses slipped, puffed, steamed, and the coachman's long whip cracked
incessantly, flying hither and thither, coiling up, then flinging out
its length like a slender serpent, as it lashed some rounded flank,
which instantly grew tense as it strained in further effort.

But the day grew apace. Those light flakes which one traveller, a native
of Rouen, had compared to a rain of cot