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"Good night!" cried a voice close to
Monsieur Jerome's ear, before he could conclude
the sentence. He dropped both reins and
whip, and nearly fell backward into the
coucou. It was a mounted gendarme on his
way towards Bernay, whose approach had
been concealed by the darkness. I returned
the man's salutationfear had completely
taken away all power of speech from
Monsieur Jeromeand he rode on. La Maligne
had taken advantage of the loose rein to stop.
I told Monsieur Jerome to get down and
pick up his whip, but he did not offer to
stir. At last he whispered, " One of those

I explained who it was, having been quite
near enough to see.

"Ah, why did not monsieur tell him that
before? So it was one of the lepins ferrés"
(a popular name for the gendarmes). ''Yes,
he would soon pick up his whip. What a
pity the fellow was going the other way! He
would, after all, have been some company.
Besides, they were always armed."

Monsieur Jerome speedily recovered his
property, and again we moved on. I could
perceive through the indistinctness of the
night that we were skirting a wood;
doubtless, the terrible Bois Jean, for not
a word did our valiant driver utternot
a single malediction did he bestow on La
Maligne. On a sudden, a gleam of light shot
up in the distance, and as speedily
disappeared. Monsieur Jerome observed it, and
exclaimed that it was the malle-poste coming.

Yes, it was the time he expected it to
appear. It did not carry many passengers
only two besides the conducteurbut then
there was the postilion, he made four; and
four people could make a good stand against
anybody who attacked them. The malle-
poste would soon be very near, but before it
came up we should, he hoped, have left this
accursed wood behind us, and then the road
was open all the way to Montreuil. Hi, hi!
la Maligne. En avant!

I could perceive that Monsieur Jerome
was straining his eyes to get another glimpse
of the malle-poste lamps, and presently
another gleam appeared. He was greatly
rejoiced, and gave vent to his exultation so
noisily that my wife woke up and looked
about her. She asked what was the matter?
I told her what Monsieur Jerome expected.
In about a minute the light showed itself
again. " There! " said I.

"That is not a carriage-lamp," returned
my wife, whose eyesight was remarkable;
"that is lightning. I have seen several

As she spoke in French, Monsieur Jerome
understood her. He would wager anything
it was not lightning. It must be the malle-
poste; it could not be anything else. At
last there came a terrific peal of thunder;
and, sorely against his will, he became
convinced that a storm was approaching, and
not the malle-poste. I think he would have
pulled up at once if he had dared, but the
dreaded contents of the Bois Jean impelled
him onward; and, as I knew he had no
choice, I left him to be pelted on by the rain,
while I went back to the interior of the
coucou. It was but a slight punishment for
his cowardicenothing, indeed, to a fellow
accustomed to all weathers, if it had not been
accompanied at every step by the direst
misgivings as to being waylaid and murdered.

I need not say that no such tragical event
occurred. We jolted along, too slowly for
our impatient hungerfar too slowly for the
fears of Monsieur Jerome. But everything
comes to an end at last, even a journey in a
French coucou; and, within a quarter of an
hour of midnight, other corruscations than
those of the elements were visible. They
proved to be the lights of Montreuil; and,
amidst such an amount of whip-cracking and
shouting as had not been heard in that town
for many a day, we drove across the draw-
bridge, passed through the fortifications,
traversed the square, and closed our pilgrimage
at the door of the Hôtel de la Cour de

The woodcock pie on which we supped, the
excellent Bordeaux in which we drank each
other's healths, the admirable bed we slept
in, the capital breakfast with which we
fortified ourselves next morning, need not be
recorded. Neither is it necessary to describe
any further particulars of our journey; but
it may be as well to mention, lest a notion to
the contrary should prevail, thatwith
returning daylight and nothing to fear
Monsieur Jerome once more showed himself to be
a man of courage.



SEPTEMBER the first.—This morning I had
an answer to my letter from Sir Edward
Singleton, and some few details concerning
Alice. He says she was not neglected in her
illness and death, for though Mrs. Hardfast
left her, there was an Englishwoman, resident
in Brussels (a teacher, he believes, named
Mervin), who was with her to the last, and
who followed her coffin to the grave. She is
buried at Brussels, and there is a cross put
up as on the other tombs, and a slab with
her name and the date of her death. There
is then no tribute of love or gratitude that I
can pay herstrangers have done all! I do
not remember ever feeling so saddened, so
depressed by any event as by this. To think
I have been breathing my reproaches to a
dead heart, hungering for a sight of one who
has been dust these two years. Did she
remember me when she died, I wonder? O,
Alice, and so hard as I was to you once!

September the twelfth.—Emily Clay and
Hugh Cameron were married the day before