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 sprinkle the dust.  One of those big black clouds which I mentioned opened, and long streams of rain fell from its gloomy folds like arrows from an overturned quiver.

A moss-covered shed, used to put away farming implements, odd cart-wheels, performed for us the same service as the classic grotto which sheltered Eneas and Dido under similar circumstances.  The wild branches of the hawthorn and sweet-briar added to the rusticity of our asylum.

My unknown, although visibly annoyed by this delay, resigned herself to her fate, and watched the rain falling in torrents.  O Robinson Crusoe, how I envied you, at that moment, your famous goat-skin umbrella! how gracefully would I have offered its shelter to this beauty as far as Pont de l’Arche, for she was going to Pont de l’Arche, right into the lion’s mouth.  Time passed.  The vehicle would not return until the next train was due, that is in five or six hours; I had not told them to come for me; our situation was most melancholy.