Four horsemen quietly approached, walking their horses, and one of them, a little in advance of the others, made a sign with his hand to the postilion, ordering him to draw up.

The postilion obeyed.
"Oh, mamma!" cried Edouard, standing up and leaning out of the window in spite of Madame de Montrevel's protestations; "oh, mamma, what fine horses! But why do these gentlemen wear masks?
This isn't carnival." Madame de Montrevel was dreaming.

A woman always dreams a little; young, of the future; old, of the past.

She started from her revery, put her head out of the window, and gave a little cry.
Edouard turned around hastily.
"What ails you, mother ?" he asked.
Madame de Montrevel turned pale and took him in her arms without a word.
Cries of terror were heard in the interior.
"But what is the matter ?" demanded little Edouard, struggling to escape from his mother's encircling arms.
"Nothing, my little man," said one of the masked men in a gentle voice, putting his head through the window of the coupe; "nothing but an account we have to settle with the conductor, which does not in the least concern you travellers.

Tell your mother to accept our respectful homage, and to pay no more heed to us than if we were not here." Then passing to the door of the interior, he added: "Gentlemen, your servant.
Fear nothing for your money or jewels, and reassure that nurse--we have not come here to turn her milk." Then to the conductor: "Now, then, Pere Jerome, we have a hundred thousand francs on the imperial and in the boxes, haven't we ?" "Gentlemen, I assure you--" "That the money belongs to the government.