'It's the sun falling straight in; but, after all, a flood of sunshine
on one's skin does one good. We could have done with some of it last
night at the door, couldn't we?'

At this both burst out laughing, and he, delighted at having hit upon
a subject of conversation, questioned her about her adventure,
without, however, feeling inquisitive, for he cared little about
discovering the real truth, and was only intent upon prolonging the
sitting.

Christine simply, and in a few words, related what had befallen her.
Early on the previous morning she had left Clermont for Paris, where
she was to take up a situation as reader and companion to the widow of
a general, Madame Vanzade, a rich old lady, who lived at Passy. The
train was timed to reach Paris at ten minutes past nine in the
evening, and a maid was to meet her at the station. They had even
settled by letter upon a means of recognition. She was to wear a black
hat with a grey feather in it. But, a little above Nevers, her train
had come upon a goods train which had run off the rails, its litter of
smashed trucks still obstructing the line. There was quite a series of
mishaps and delays. First an interminable wait in the carriages, which
the passengers had to quit at last, luggage and all, in order to
trudge to the next station, three kilometres distant, where the
authorities had decided to make up another train. By this time they
had lost two hours, and then another two were lost in the general
confusion which the accident had caused from one end of the line to
the other, in such wise that they reached the Paris terminus four
hours behind time, that is, at one o'clock in the morning.

'Bad luck, indeed,' interrupted Claude, who was still sceptical,