though half disarmed, in his surprise at the neat way in which the
girl arranged the details of her story.

'And, of course, there was no one at the station to meet you?' he
added.

Christine had, indeed, missed Madame Vanzade's maid, who, no doubt,
had grown tired of waiting. She told Claude of her utter helplessness
at the Lyons terminus--that large, strange, dark station, deserted at
that late hour of night. She had not dared to take a cab at first, but
had kept on walking up and down, carrying her small bag, and still
hoping that somebody would come for her. When at last she made up her
mind there only remained one driver, very dirty and smelling of drink,
who prowled round her, offering his cab in a knowing, impudent way.

'Yes, I know, a dawdler,' said Claude, getting as interested as if he
were listening to a fairy tale. 'So you got into his cab?'

Looking up at the ceiling, Christine continued, without shifting her
position: 'He made me; he called me his little dear, and frightened
me. When he found out that I was going to Passy, he became very angry,
and whipped his horse so hard that I was obliged to hold on by the
doors. After that I felt more easy, because the cab trundled along all
right through the lighted streets, and I saw people about. At last I
recognised the Seine, for though I was never in Paris before, I had
often looked at a map. Naturally I thought he would keep along the
quay, so I became very frightened again on noticing that we crossed a
bridge. Just then it began to rain, and the cab, which had got into a
very dark turning, suddenly stopped. The driver got down from his
seat, and declared it was raining too hard for him to remain on the