"Madame has had a weary journey," I
said, burning with curiosity to learn,
something of the mystery.

"It is only the beginning, Monsieur," she
said. Then rising, she came over, and placed
herself exactly fronting me. She stooped
forward to speak, and I saw into the velvet
hood. A round, pale face, with saffron hair;
with a composed, gentle expression, ill keeping
with the voice.

"What do you make of all this?" she said,
earnestly. "Speak quickly."

What could I make? I would confess to
Madame that it embarrassed me not a little.
It bore the look of an adventure.

"An adventure, indeed! Would you
suppose that I am flying from my husband: from
a cruel, persecuting monster?"

I was a Briton, and had Britons' old-
fashioned notions about such things. "H'm,
indeed!" I was saying, drawing myself up
stiffly enough.

"Ah! " continued Velvet-Hood, reading
me with a Frenchwoman's quickness, "I
know what you think of it. But, if you could
learn what a wretch he is. Sir, he beats me
with his long riding-whip, if I go so much
as look from a window. See!" and with a
strange confidence, she let down the Velvet
Hood, and showed the back of her neck and
shoulders; where there was a long, raw welt,
quite red and angry.

"H'm! " I said, "highly improper treatment,
no doubt." I was still the dry Briton;
but was growing more mystified every
instant.

"Sir," she continued, "that was this morning's
work. See, again; "and she had stripped
her arm in an instant. "That is his
bite! Ah! the savage! And he is a
marquis of the purest blood in France.
Was I to stay—to stay to be lashed and
bitten?"

"H'm! certainly not. That is—"

"That is—that is, of course. I know the
tune. He was right, of course. Fortunately,
there was this noble Neapolitan gentleman to
stand between me and this vile oppression—
this woman-beating!"

"Pardon me, Madame; but from what I
have seen—"

"He is naturally a little timorous. But
has a gallant heart for all that. I am under
safeguard of his honour, and he will take me
to his Neapolitan estates, where his mother
and sisters live."

"H'm! " I said; "quite correct."

"Yes," she went on. "There we will
stay until this wife-beating monster dies.
Dieu merci! he is near to seventy."

"That is the arrangement?" I said.

"That is the arrangement. Carlo is fearful
of pursuit; but there is no danger. There
is my brother, too, another savage—a
bully——

"Most curious history," I said.

Here the Neapolitan appeared at the door,
glouring at us both. Velvet-Hood was back
in her place in an instant.

Said he, in his snarling way, his black eyes
shooting out sparkles. "What is this hole and
corner work? These confidences when I am
gone—speak?"

"Sir," I said, "what do you mean?" I
did not over relish that tone of his.

The old cringing way was on him again in
an instant.

"Sir, there is no offence to you whatever. I
had forgotten myself but for an instant.
Accept my humblest excuses." Then, under
his teeth, "Ah, Scélérate! I could whip you
worse than ever did that husband of
yours."

I turned from him with contempt.
Wonderful mystery! How she could tolerate this
other mean-souled spaniel of a Neapolitan!
But there she sat, quite composed and smiling
even, with the velvet hood thrown
back.

"Don't fret yourself, Carlo, dearest. It is a
weary journey, doubtless, but we shall soon
be through it."

"Through it!" he said, roughly, pushing
away the hand that was laid upon his arm,—
he was an unredeemed savage—"how shall you
tell me that? What do you know of it? Ah!
I have no patience with your idle talk! My
soul is sick with suspense."

"Courage," said Velvet-Hood. "Hark!
there is the bell! One more halting-place,
and we are safe."

As she spoke we began to move slowly, and
the express shot forth again into the darkness.
The great sea-shells were held to our
ears again, and we once more settled
ourselves back in our places, against a long spell
of journeying. I had taken in a fresh store of
that sea-green aliment, just as engine had
been taking in store of coke and water; but,
though there was a second Edouard and
Marie, whose history seemed deeply interesting
—still, with eyes tolerably bleared and
drowsy brain, it was not possible to do much
in that way. Those who sat opposite seemed
to have been wearied out of their troubles.
The Velvet-Hood sleeping tranquilly; but
the Neapolitan still kept watch—shooting his
eyes from right to left, ceaselessly. So the
Marseilles express went forward through
the night and grey morning, too. Until,
grown drowsy myself, the sea-green romance
slipped away down to the bottom of the
carriage.

No more consciousness until a loud,
despairing engine-shriek, prolonged infinitely,
roused me up. The Neapolitan had his
hands clasped and was calling out piteously:
"O Mercy! Mercy! Signors! O, gentle
signors, listen to me! Spare, spare—ah, 'tis
cold. Where are we now? Wake, wake!"

He jostled his companion as he spoke. She
roused up in a moment, and turned to him
with that strange sweetness of hers.

"Are you refreshed, Carlo?" she said,