her brass and glass caught fire and twinkled gaily, the snow sparkled,
the gate-posts shone at her. She left the garage without a regret in her
heart, with not a thought in her head, save that in a minute she would
be safe, no accident could stop her, she would be abroad upon the magic,
the unbelievable journey.

* * * * *

They were in a small circular room, shaped like an English oasthouse,
its roof running upwards in a funnel to meet the sky. At the apex was a
round porthole of thick glass to let in the light, but as this was
supporting several feet of snow the lighting of the room was effected
only by a large oil-lamp which stood on the blackened table in the
centre. An old woman came forward into the light of the lamp. Her eyes
were fine and black--her mouth was toothless and folded away for ever,
lost in a crevice under her nose. When she smiled the oak-apples of her
cheeks rose up and cut the black eyes into hoops.

"We are on a long journey, madame, to Chantilly. We are cold; can we
have coffee?"

She drew out chairs and bade them sit, then placed two tall glasses of
coffee in the ring of light from the lamp, sugar melting in a sandy heap
at the bottom of each.

"What an odd shape your house is!" said Julien, looking round him.

"It's very old, like me. And the light is poor. You have to know it to
get used to it," she replied.