She here uttered a quick cry, and darted forward for the check-string.  Arresting her hand half way, respectfully but firmly, I went on:—­

“How I came here, I will explain presently.  I am a gentleman; and upon the word of a gentleman, Madame, am innocent of any desire to offend or alarm you.  Can you—­will you—­hear me for one moment?”

“I appear, sir, to have no alternative,” replied she, trembling like a caged bird.

“I might have left you undeceived, Madame.  I might have extricated myself from, this painful position undiscovered—­but for some words which just escaped your lips; some words so nearly concerning the—­the honor and happiness of—­of.... in short, I lost my presence of mind.  I now implore you to tell me if all that you have just been saying of Madame de Marignan is strictly true.”

“Who are you, sir, that you should dare to surprise confidences intended for another, and by what right do you question me?” said the lady, haughtily.

“By no right, Madame,” I replied, fairly breaking into sobs, and burying my face in my hands.  “I can only appeal to your compassion.  I am that Englishman whom—­whom....”

For a moment there was silence.  My companion was the first to speak.

“Poor boy!” she said; and her voice, now, was gentle and compassionate.  “You have been rudely undeceived.  Did Madame de Marignan pass herself off upon you for a widow?”

“She never named her husband to me—­I believed that she was free.  I fancied he had been dead for years.  She knew that was my impression.”

“And you would have married her—­actually married her?”

“I—­I—­hardly dared to hope....”

“Ciel! it is almost beyond belief.  And you never inquired into her past history?”

“Never.  Why should I?”

“Monsieur de Marignan holds a government appointment in Algiers, and has been absent more than four years.  He is, I understand, expected back shortly, on leave of absence.”

I conquered my agitation by a supreme effort.

“Madame,” I said, “I thank you.  It now only remains for me to explain my intrusion.  I can do so in half a dozen words.  Caught in the storm and unable to find a conveyance, I sought shelter in this carriage, which being the last on the file, offered the only refuge of which I could avail myself unobserved.  While waiting for the tempest to abate, I fell asleep; and but for the chance which led you to mistake me for another, I must have been discovered when you entered the carriage.”

“Then, finding yourself so mistaken, Monsieur, would it not have been more honorable to undeceive me than to usurp a conversation which....”

“Madame, I dared not.  I feared to alarm you—­I hoped to find some means of escape, and....”

“Mon Dieu! what means?  How are you to escape as it is?  How leave the carriage without being seen by my servants?”