It is evident that the young Celestial is a thousand and ten times wrong, to use the numerative formula; but it is not for me to tell him so.
At dinner Mr. and Mrs. Ephrinell, sitting side by side, hardly exchanged a word. Their intimacy seems to have decreased since they were married. Perhaps they are absorbed in the calculation of their reciprocal interests, which are not yet perfectly amalgamated. Ah! they do not count by moons and watches, these Anglo-Saxons! They are practical, too practical!
We have had a bad night. The sky of purple sulphury tint became stormy toward evening, the atmosphere became stifling, the electrical tension excessive. It meant a “highly successful” storm, to quote Caterna, who assured me he had never seen a better one except perhaps in the second act of Freyschütz. In truth the train ran through a zone, so to speak, of vivid lightning and rolling thunder, which the echoes of the mountains prolonged indefinitely. I think there must have been several lightning strokes, but the rails acted as conductors, and preserved the cars from injury. It was a fine spectacle, a little alarming, these fires in the sky that the heavy rain could not put out—these continuous discharges from the clouds, in which were mingled the strident whistlings of our locomotive as we passed through the stations of Yanlu, Youn Tcheng, Houlan-Sien and Da-Tsching.
By favor of this troubled night I was able to communicate with Kinko, to take him some provisions and to have a few minutes’ conversation with him.
“Is it the day after tomorrow,” he asked, “that we arrive at Peking?”
“Yes, the day after tomorrow, if the train is not delayed.”
“Oh, I am not afraid of delays! But when my box is in the railway station at Peking, I have still to get to the Avenue Cha-Coua—”
“What does it matter, will not the fair Zinca Klork come and call for it?”
“No. I advised her not to do so.”
“And why?”
“Women are so impressionable! She would want to see the van in which I had come, she would claim the box with such excitement that suspicions would be aroused. In short, she would run the risk of betraying me.”
“You are right, Kinko.”
“Besides, we shall reach the station in the afternoon, very late in the afternoon perhaps, and the unloading of the packages will not take place until next morning—”
“Probably.”
“Well, Monsieur Bombarnac, if I am not taking too great a liberty, may I ask a favor of you?”
“What is it?”
“That you will be present at the departure of the case, so as to avoid any mistake.”
“I will be there, Kinko, I will be there. Glass fragile, I will see that they don’t handle it too roughly. And if you like I will accompany the case to Avenue Cha-Coua—”
“I hardly like to ask you to do that—”
“You are wrong, Kinko. You should not stand on ceremony with a friend, and I am yours, Kinko. Besides, it will be a pleasure to me to make the acquaintance of Mademoiselle Zinca Klork. I will be there when they deliver the box, the precious box. I will help her to get the nails out of it—”
“The nails out of it, Monsieur Bombarnac? My panel? Ah, I will jump through my panel!”
A terrible clap of thunder interrupted our conversation. I thought the train had been thrown off the line by the commotion of the air. I left the young Romanian and regained my place within the car.
In the morning—26th of May, 7 a.m.—we arrived at Lan-Tcheou. Three hours to stop, three hours only.
“Come, Major Noltitz, come, Pan-Chao, come, Caterna, we have not a minute to spare.”
But as we are leaving the station we are stopped by the appearance of a tall, fat, gray, solemn personage. It is the governor of the town in a double robe of white and yellow silk, fan in hand, buckled belt, and a mantilla—a black mantilla which would have looked much better on the shoulders of a manola. He is accompanied by a certain number of globular mandarins, and the Celestials salute him by holding out their two fists, which they move up and down as they nod their heads.
“Ah! What is this gentleman going to do? Is it some Chinese formality? A visit to the passengers and their baggage? And Kinko, what about him?”
Nothing alarming, after all. It is only about the treasure of the Son of Heaven. The governor and his suite have stopped before the precious van, bolted and sealed, and are looking at it with that respectful admiration which is experienced even in China before a box containing many millions.
I ask Popof what is meant by the governor’s presence, has it anything to do with us?
“Not at all,” says Popof; “the order has come from Peking to telegraph the arrival of the treasure. The governor has done so, and he is awaiting a reply as to whether he is to send it on to Peking or keep it provisionally at Lan-Tcheou.”
“That will not delay us?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then come on,” said I to my companions. But if the imperial treasure was a matter of indifference to us, it did not seem to be so to Faruskiar. But whether this van started or did not start, whether it was attached to our train or left behind, what could it matter to him? Nevertheless, he and Ghangir seemed to be much put about regarding it, although they tried to hide their anxiety, while the Mongols, talking together in a low tone, gave the governor anything but friendly glances.
Meanwhile the governor had just heard of the attack on the train and of
