A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. But he did not follow on with the thought. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease.
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