with the utmost care, every thing about it betokened decay. Its joints
were open, discolored, and weather-beaten, and it swung from side to
side on its springs like a rickety skeleton. Its patched leathers shone
in the sunshine with the oil that had been used to freshen them, but the
borrowed lustre could not hide the cracks and repairs with which they
were defaced. The door-handles and other parts of the vehicle that were
made of copper had been carefully polished, and the vestiges of
silver-plating, still visible in the creases of the ornaments, denoted a
former richness which had been almost entirely worn out by time and use.

The _calèche_ was drawn by a stout, heavy horse, whose short and
lumbering gait intimated very clearly that he was oftener employed in
the plough and cart than in carrying his owner toward the capital.

A peasant-boy of seventeen or eighteen was perched on the driver's seat.
He was in livery; a tarnished gold band adorned his hat, and brass
buttons glistened on his coat; but the hat fell over his ears, and the
coat was so large that the driver seemed lost in it as in a bag. The
garments had been worn by many of the lackey's predecessors on the box,
and, in a long series of years, had doubtless passed from coachman to
coachman till they descended to their present possessor.

The only person in the vehicle was a man about fifty years old. He was
unquestionably the master of both servant and cabriolet, for his look
and deportment commanded respect and consideration. With head depressed
and moody air, he sat motionless and dreamy in his seat till he heard
the approach of other vehicles, when, suddenly lifting his eyes, he
would salute the strangers graciously and then instantly relapse into
his former attitude. A moment's glance at this person was sufficient to
excite an interest in him. His face, though hard and wrinkled, was so