rime was still over the ground, only melting in the sunniest spots.  Only the oak leaves, a brownish-red shag mostly on the lower branches, were left on the trees.  The door-yards were full of dried chrysanthemums, the windows gay with green-house plants.  The air was full of the smell of smoke and coffee and frying things, for it was Banbridge’s breakfast-hour.  Men met Carroll on their way to the next train to the City, walking briskly with shoulders slightly shrugged before the keen wind.  They bowed to him with a certain reserve.  He met one young girl carrying a music-roll, who wore on her face an expression of joy so extreme that it gave the effect of a light.  Carroll noticed it absently, this alien joy with which he had no concern.  As the girl passed him, he perceived a strong odor of violet from her dainty attire, and it directly, although he was unaware of the connection, caused him to remember the episode of his discovering the two women, Mrs. Van Dorn and Mrs. Lee, spying out the secrets in his house.  That same odor had smote his nostrils when he entered the door.  He reviewed from that starting-point the succeeding stages of his stay in Banbridge, the whole miserable, ignominious descent from a fictitious prosperity to plain, evident disgrace and want.  He was returning to his desolate house.  Martin had gone, wretchedly and plainly incredulous of Carroll’s promise to finally pay him every cent he owed him.  Maria had packed her box, and tied two gay foreign handkerchiefs into bags to contain her ragged possessions.  He was to be entirely alone.  He could remain in the house probably only for a short time, until the owner should find a new tenant.  He walked along with his head up, retaining his old stately carriage.  As he turned the street corner on which his house stood, he saw a figure advancing, and his heart stood still.  He thought he recognized Charlotte, incredible although it was, since he had just seen her depart on the train.  But surely that was Charlotte approaching, although she carried strange parcels.  The girl was just her height, she even seemed to walk like her, and she surely wore a dress of which Charlotte was very fond.  It was of a dusky red color, the skirt hanging in soft pleats.  The hat was also red with a white wing.  There was fur on the coat, and Carroll could see the fluff of it over the girlish shoulders.  He could see the stiff white gleam of the wing.  Then he saw who it was—­Marie, with a yellow handkerchief gathered into a bag in one hand, and a little kitten which she had cherished, in a paper bag in the other.  The kitten’s black head protruded, and it was mewing shrilly.  Marie was radiant with smiles, and she wore Charlotte’s dress.  She had stolen up-stairs and viewed herself in the mirror in Mrs. Carroll’s room, and she had hopes of herself in that costume even without any money in her pocket.  She was dreaming her humble little love-dream again.  She smiled up at Carroll in a charming fashion as they met.