Excerpt from Blind Rosa: And Other Tales ON a fine summer's day, in the year 1846, the diligence that runs between Antwerp and Turnhout was seen proceeding on its usual journey along the highway. The horses trotted, the wheels rattled, the coach creaked, the conductor spurred on the horses unceasingly with the clacking of his tongue; the dogs barked in the distance; the birds rose from the fields, and mounted aloft, the shadows ran by the side of the diligence, and danced, with fantastic bounds and leaps, between the trees and bushes.
On a sudden the conductor stopped at a short dis tance from a lonely inn, and, descending from his seat, opened the door of the coach without saying a word, let down the iron steps, and held out his arm to a traveller, who, with his portmanteau in his hand, stepped out on the road. The conductor put up the steps again as silently, shut the door, sprang into his seat, and whistled gently as a signal for his horses to start afresh on their journey. The animals resumed their trot, and the heavy waggon proceeded on its monotonous course.
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