empty carriage, where, without disturbance, she might sit and
congratulate herself on having accomplished this first step in
her journey. Indeed, this seemed to her so great a success,
that she felt nothing but hope as she sat curled up in a
corner, only wishing vaguely, from time to time, that her head
would not ache so much, and that she did not feel so very,
very tired. She had a great confidence in the swiftness of the
train, which was every moment increasing the distance between
herself and Liége, and so, as she thought, lessening the
chances of her being discovered in case of pursuit; and yet,
when it stopped at length at the well-remembered Spa station,
she lingered a moment in the carriage, feeling as if it were a
friendly place of refuge she was leaving, to face unknown
dangers in the outer world.

No one noticed her, however, as she slowly alighted and looked
about her. There were, as we have said, but few passengers at
this early hour, and the platform was already nearly deserted.
At a little distance she could see Madame la Comtesse and her
flounces walking briskly away; on one side was an English
family of the received type, wrangling with porters and
omnibus-drivers in the midst of their luggage; on the other,
an invalid Russian wrapped to the nose in furs, leaning on his
valet's arm; in the foreground, a party of gay Liégeois, come
over for a day's amusement. No one looked at our poor little
Madelon, as, half-bewildered, she stood for a moment on the
platform, her bundle on her arm, her veil pulled down over her
face; one after the other they vanished, and then she too
followed, out into the tree-bordered road, with the familiar
hills on either side, sheltering the little gay white town.