The frightened girl was sitting next this pagan personality; it was possibly the lack of fashion in his looks that caused, her to select him for her confidence.

“Monsieur,” she asked, “do you speak French?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then can you tell me where they take the tickets?

“The young man shook his head.

“No,” said he, “I am a foreigner.”

The girl sighed.

“But what is the matter, ma’moiselle?”

The girl did not reply, twisting her hands on an old bag in her lap.  Silence had stolen on the carriage—­a silence such as steals on animals at the first approach of danger; all eyes were turned towards the figures of the foreigners.

“Yes,” broke out the red-faced man, “he was a bit squiffy that evening—­old Tom.”

“Ah!” replied his neighbour, “he would be.”

Something seemed to have destroyed their look of mutual distrust.  The plump, sleek hand of the lady with the Roman nose curved convulsively; and this movement corresponded to the feeling agitating Shelton’s heart.  It was almost as if hand and heart feared to be asked for something.

“Monsieur,” said the girl, with a tremble in her voice, “I am very unhappy; can you tell me what to do?  I had no money for a ticket.”

The foreign youth’s face flickered.

“Yes?” he said; “that might happen to anyone, of course.”

“What will they do to me?” sighed the girl.

“Don’t lose courage, ma’moiselle.”  The young man slid his eyes from left to right, and rested them on Shelton.  “Although I don’t as yet see your way out.”

“Oh, monsieur!” sighed the girl, and, though it was clear that none but Shelton understood what they were saying, there was a chilly feeling in the carriage.

“I wish I could assist you,” said the foreign youth; “unfortunately——­” he shrugged his shoulders, and again his eyes returned to Shelton.

The latter thrust his hand into his pocket.

“Can I be of any use?” he asked in English.

“Certainly, sir; you could render this young lady the greatest possible service by lending her the money for a ticket.”

Shelton produced a sovereign, which the young man took.  Passing it to the girl, he said: 

“A thousand thanks—­’voila une belle action’!”

The misgivings which attend on casual charity crowded up in Shelton’s mind; he was ashamed of having them and of not having them, and he stole covert looks at this young foreigner, who was now talking to the girl in a language that he did not understand.  Though vagabond in essence, the fellow’s face showed subtle spirit, a fortitude and irony not found upon the face of normal man, and in turning from it to the other passengers Shelton was conscious of revolt, contempt, and questioning, that he could not define.  Leaning back with half-closed eyes, he tried to diagnose this new sensation.  He found it disconcerting