herself. Then she leaned back in the carriage, drew her hat over her face,
and exposed to view only a chin and a mole under it, that moved up and down
as she sucked her jujube.

Next, the feeble, amorous husband, endeavoured to get hold of her hand.
She snatched it away vixenishly. Hectic spots formed on his cheeks, and
perspiration stood in great drops on his brow. This was clearly the first
ruffle he had experienced on the hymeneal sea. He got out of the carriage
at Cannes, and hung about the buffet till the extreme moment, hoping to
betray her into tokens of uneasiness lest he should miss the train. As it
was, at the final moment he swung himself into another carriage. She thrust
her hat a little on one side, protruded an eye to see what became of him,
then covered it once more. He got in at the next station, breathless, in
pretended agitation. He had nearly lost his place--he was all but left
behind. Had he been so left, what would she have done? She vouchsafed
no reply. Tired, however, of looking into the crown of her hat, she now
removed it and placed it on her lap. The face was still sullen, with the
jowl hanging down, the coarse lips set in defiance, and an ugly flicker
in the eyes. Now the hectic-cheeked husband became boisterous in merry
conversation with other travellers near him, but always with an eye
reverting at periods to his wife, whose lips retained a contemptuous curl.
Then he sulked in his turn, folded his arms, thrust forth his feet under
the seat opposite, and looked gloomily into the space between them. Thereat
she began to hum an air from "La Traviata," when suddenly the situation
was altered. By some marvellous instinct she discovered that I had been
observing the little play; the comedy _a deux_, and had made my comments
thereon--not in her favour.

Instantly the expression of her countenance changed. She turned to her
husband. "Gustave!" said she, "Je souffre," and she laid her head on his