On this information from Popof, I will keep to the number nine I have given to young Pan-Chao, and to the ten with which I have labelled Doctor Tio-King.
“The American,” began Popof.
“Ephrinell?” I exclaimed, “and Miss Horatia Bluett, the Englishwoman? Oh! You can tell me nothing about them I don’t know.”
“Shall I tell you what I think about that couple, Monsieur Bombarnac?”
“What do you think?”
“That as soon as they reach Peking, Miss Bluett will become Mrs. Ephrinell.”
“And may Heaven bless their union, Popof, for they are really made for each other.”
I saw that on this subject Popof and I held similar ideas.
“And the two French people, that couple so affectionate.” I asked, “who are they?”
“Have they not told you?”
“No, Popof.”
“You need not be anxious, Monsieur Bombarnac. Besides, if you wish to know their profession, it is written at full length on all their luggage.
“And that is?”
“Stage people who are going to a theater in China.”
Stage people! If that explains the attitudes, and mobile physiognomy, and demonstrative gestures of Caterna, it does not explain his maritime allusions.
“And do you know what line these players are in?”
“The husband is comic lead.”
“And the wife?”
“She is leading lady.”
“And where are these lyrical people going?”
“To Shanghai, where they have an engagement at the French theater.”
That is capital. I will talk about the theater, and behind the scenes, and such matters, and, as Popof said, I shall soon make the acquaintance of the cheery comedian and his charming wife. But it is not in their company that I shall discover the hero of romance who is the object of my desire.
As to the scornful gentleman, our guide knew nothing beyond that his luggage bore the address in full: Sir Francis Trevellyan, Trevellyan Hall, Trevellyanshire.
“A gentleman who does not answer when he is spoken to!” added Popof.
Well, my number eight will have to be dumb man, and that will do very well.
“Now we get to the German,” said I.
“Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer?”
“He is going to Peking, I think.”
“To Peking and beyond.”
“Beyond?”
“Yes; he is on a trip round the world.”
“A trip round the world?”
“In thirty-nine days.”
And so after Mrs. Bisland who did the famous tour in seventy-three days, and Train who did it in seventy, this German was attempting to do it in thirty-nine?
True, the means of communication are more rapid, the line is more direct, and by using the Grand Transasiatic which puts Peking within a fortnight of the Prussian capital, the baron might halve the old time by Suez and Singapore—but—
“He will never do it!” I exclaimed.
“Why not?” asked Popof.
“Because he is always late. He nearly missed the train at Tiflis, he nearly missed the boat at Baku—”
“But he did not miss the start from Uzun Ada.”
“It doesn’t matter, Popof. I shall be much surprised if this German beats an American at globe-trotting.”
VII
The train arrived at Kizil Arvat, two hundred and forty-two versts from the Caspian, at thirteen minutes past seven in the evening instead of seven o’clock. This slight delay provoked thirteen objurgations from the baron, one for each minute.
We have two hours to wait at Kizil Arvat. Although the day is closing in, I could not employ my time better than in visiting this little town, which contains more than two thousand inhabitants, Russians, Persians and Turkomans. There is not much to see, however, either within it or around it; there are no trees—not even a palm tree—only pasturages and fields of cereals, watered by a narrow stream. My good fortune furnished me with a companion, or I should rather say a guide, in Major Noltitz.
Our acquaintance was made very simply. The major came up to me, and I went up to him as soon as we set foot on the platform of the railway station.
“Sir,” said I, “I am a Frenchman, Claudius Bombarnac, special correspondent of the Twentieth Century, and you are Major Noltitz of the Russian army. You are going to Peking, so am I. I can speak your language, and it is very likely that you can speak mine.”
The major made a sign of assent.
“Well, Major Noltitz, instead of remaining strangers to each other during the long transit of Central Asia, would it please you for us to become more than mere traveling companions? You know all about this country that I do not know, and it would be a pleasure for me to learn from you.”
“Monsieur Bombarnac,” replied the major in French, without a trace of accent, “I quite agree with you.”
Then he added with a smile:
“As to learning from me, one of your most eminent critics, if I remember rightly, has said that the French only like to learn what they know.”
“I see that you have read Sainte Beuve, Major Noltitz; perhaps this sceptical academician was right in a general way. But for my part, I am an exception to the rule, and I wish to learn what I do not know. And in all that concerns Russian Turkestan, I am in a state of ignorance.”
“I am entirely at your disposal,” said the major, “and I will be happy to tell you all about General Annenkof, for I was all through the work with him.”
“I thank you, Major Noltitz. I expected no less than the courtesy of a Russian towards a Frenchman.”
“And,” said the major, “if you will allow me to quote that celebrated sentence in the Danicheffs, ‘It will be always thus so long as there are Frenchmen and Russians.’ ”
“The younger Dumas after Sainte Beuve?” I exclaimed. “I see, major, that I am talking to a Parisian—”
“Of Petersburg, Monsieur Bombarnac.”
And we cordially shook hands. A minute afterwards, we were on our way through the town, and this is what Major Noltitz told me:
It was towards the end of 1885 that General Annenkof finished, at Kizil Arvat, the first portion of this railway measuring about 140 miles, of which 90 were through a desert which did not yield a single drop of water. But before
