“You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. She could not run, her limbs were frozen.
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