The first time, she got down at the great Hotel of Autun, and I, in a
little inn of the faubourg close by. Before daylight the two carriages,
within sight of each other, were once more running along the white and
winding road, through the gray plains and druidical oak forests of
Upper Burgundy. We stopped in the little town of Avalon,--she in the
centre, and I at the extremity of the town. The next day we were
rolling on towards Sens. The snow which the north wind had accumulated
on the barren heights of Lucy-le-Bois and of Vermanton, fell in
half-melted flakes on the road, and smothered the sound of the wheels.
One could scarcely distinguish the misty horizon at the distance of a
few feet, through the whirling cloud of snow that the wind drifted from
the adjoining fields. It was no longer possible, by sight or sound, to
judge of the distance between the two carriages. Suddenly I perceived
in front, almost touching my horses' heads, Julie's carriage, which was
drawn up in the middle of the road. The courier had alighted, and was
standing on the steps calling out for help and making signs of
distress. I leaped out and flew to the carriage, by a first impulse
stronger than prudence; I jumped inside, and saw the maid striving to
recall her mistress from a fainting fit brought on by the weather and
fatigue, and perhaps by the storms of the heart. The courier ran to
fetch warm water from the distant cottages, and the maid rubbed her
mistress's cold feet in her hands, or pressed them to her bosom to warm
them. Oh, what I felt, as I held that adored form in my arms during one
long hour of insensibility, desiring that she should hear, and dreading
lest she should recognize, my voice, which recalled her to life, none
can conceive or describe, unless they, too, have felt life and death
thus struggling in their hearts.

At last our tender care, the application of the hot-water bottles which