And what is this fancy now being jolted out of me?
A story?
It's of no use to keep it back--particularly in this abysmal vehicle, and here it comes: I am a Marquis--a French Marquis; French, because the peerage is not so well known, and the country is better adapted to romantic incident--a Marquis, because the democratic reader delights in the nobility.

My name is something LIGNY.

I am coming from Paris to my country seat at St.Germain.It is a dark night, and I fall asleep and tell my honest coachman, Andre, not to disturb me, and dream of an angel.

The carriage at last stops at the chateau.

It is so dark that when I alight I do not recognize the face of the footman who holds the carriage door.