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Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have

been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions,

fagged up a steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur

the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not

from within; it was occasioned by an external circumstance beyond

his control--the setting sun.

The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage

when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in

crimson. "It will die out," said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing

at his hands, "directly."

In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When

the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage

slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the

red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down

together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken off.