It wanted, perhaps, a half-hour to sunset when they set out in her
carriage with intent to leave Paris by the Porte Saint-Martin. They
travelled with a single footman behind. Rougane - terrifying
condescension - was given a seat inside the carriage with the ladies,
and proceeded to fall in love with Mlle. de Kercadiou, whom he
accounted the most beautiful being he had ever seen, yet who talked
to him simply and unaffectedly as with an equal. The thing went to
his head a little, and disturbed certain republican notions which
he had hitherto conceived himself to have thoroughly digested.
The carriage drew up at the barrier, checked there by a picket of
the National Guard posted before the iron gates.
The sergeant in command strode to the door of the vehicle. The
Countess put her head from the window.
"The barrier is closed, madame," she was curtly informed.
"Closed!" she echoed. The thing was incredible. "But... but do
you mean that we cannot pass?"
"Not unless you have a permit, madame." The sergeant leaned
nonchalantly on his pike.
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