The End of Her Honeymoon

"Cocher? l'Hôtel Saint Ange, Rue Saint Ange!"The voice of John Dampier, Nancy's three-weeks bridegroom, rang out strongly, joyously, on this the last evening of their honeymoon. And before the lightly hung open carriage hadtime to move, Dampier added something quickly, at which both he and the driver laughedin unison. Nancy crept nearer to her husband. It was tiresome that she knew so littleFrench."I'm telling the man we're not in any hurry, and that he can take us round by theBoulevards. I won't have you seeing Paris from an ugly angle the first time-darling!""But Jack? It's nearly midnight! Surely there'll be nothing to see on theBoulevards now?""Won't there? You wait and see-Paris never goes to sleep!"And then-Nancy remembered it long, long afterwards-something very odd anddisconcerting happened in the big station yard of the Gare de Lyon. The horse stopped-stopped dead. If it hadn't been that the bridegroom's arm enclosed her slender, roundedwaist, the bride might have been thrown out. The cabman stood up in his seat and gave his horse a vicious blow across the back."Oh, Jack!" Nancy shrank and hid her face in her husband's arm. "Don't let him do that! Ican't bear it!"Dampier shouted out something roughly, angrily, and the man jumped off the box, andtaking hold of the rein gave it a sharp pull. He led his unwilling horse through the big irongates, and then the little open carriage rolled on smoothly.