But Mary thought only how kind Frenchmen even of the lower classes were,
and wondered if those of other nations were as polite. Slowly the train
took her round Paris, and, after what seemed a long time, stopped in
another huge station, which shivered under a white, crude flood of
electric light. Its name--Gare du Lyon--sounded warm, however, and sent
her fancy flying southward again. She was growing impatient to get on
when, to her surprise, a porter hovering in the corridor with a large
dressing-bag plumped it into the rack beside her own. Mary started.
Could it be possible that any one else had a right to come in with her?
The question was answered by the appearance of a marvellous lady who
followed the porter. "Which of us is here?" she asked. "Oh, it's you,
Mrs. Collis! That's your bag, I think."
She spoke like an Englishwoman, yet there was a faint roll of the "r"
suggestive of foreign birth or education. Mary had never seen any one
like her before. She was unusually tall, as tall as a man of good
height, and her figure was magnificent. Evidently she was not ashamed of
her stature, for her large black hat had upstanding white wings, and her
heels were high. Her navy blue cloth dress braided with black that had
threads of gold here and there was made to show her form to the best
advantage. Mary had not known that hair could be as black as the heavy
waves which melted into the black velvet of the hat. The level brows
over the long eyes were equally black, and so were the thick short
lashes.
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