The man understood. M. Etienne Rambert’s enquiry about the place where he would be most quiet, was an implicit promise of a handsome tip if nobody did disturb him.
“If you like to settle yourself here, sir,” the man answered, “you can draw down the blinds at once, and I dare say I shall be able to find room for any other passengers somewhere else.”
“Good,” said M. Rambert, moving towards the compartment indicated. “I will smoke a cigar until the train starts, and immediately afterwards I will settle down to sleep. By the way, my man, since you seem so obliging, I wish you would undertake to call me tomorrow morning in time for me to get out at Verrières. I am desperately sleepy and I am quite capable of not waking up.”
The guard touched his cap.
“You can be perfectly easy, sir, and sleep without the least anxiety. I won’t fail.”
“Very well.”
When his baggage had been stowed away, and his rugs spread out to make the seat more comfortable still, M. Etienne Rambert repeated his appeal, for he was an old traveller and knew that it does not do to rely too much upon the promises of chance attendants.
“I can rely upon you, can’t I? I may sleep as sound as I like, and you will wake me at Verrières?” And the more to assure himself that the guard would execute his orders he slipped a franc into his hand.
When he was left alone, M. Rambert continued his preparations for the night. He carefully drew down the blinds over the door and over the windows of the compartment that gave on to the corridor, and also lowered the shade over the electric light, and then, in order to enjoy the last puffs at his cigar in peace, he opened the window over the other door and leant his elbows on it, watching the final preparations being made by the travellers by the express on the other line.
The departure of a train is always a picturesque sight, and M. Rambert leant forward inquisitively to note how the passengers had installed themselves in the two compartments which he could see from his coign of vantage.
There were not many people in the train. As a matter of fact the Brives and Luchon line is not much used at this time of year. If the number of passengers in the express were any criterion Etienne Rambert might reasonably expect that he would be the only one in the slow train. But there was not much time for observations and reflections of this kind. On the platform for the express, which he got a glimpse of through the compartments, people were hurrying up their farewells. The passengers had got into their carriages, and the friends who had come to see them off were standing alone upon the platform. There was the sound of safety locks being fastened by porters, and the noise of trollies being wheeled along bearing articles for sale.
“Pillows! Rugs! Sweets! Papers!”
Then came the whistle of the guard, the shriller scream from the electric engine, and then, slowly at first but steadily, more rapidly as the engine got up speed, the express moved along the platform and plunged into the tunnel on the way to Austerlitz.
Meanwhile the guard of the slow train was doing wonders. Shamelessly resolved to assure perfect quiet to “his” passenger, he managed, without unduly compromising himself but yet without leaving any doubt about it in any mind, to insinuate discreetly that M. Rambert’s carriage was reserved, so that that gentleman might count upon an entirely undisturbed night.
A few minutes after the express had gone, the slow train drew out in its turn, and disappeared into the darkness of the underground tunnel.
At the château of Beaulieu young Charles Rambert was just finishing dressing when a gentle tap sounded on the door of his room.
“It is a quarter to five, Charles. Get up at once!”
“I am awake already, Thérèse,” Charles Rambert answered with some pride. “I shall be ready in two minutes.”
“What? up already?” the girl exclaimed from the other side of the door. “Marvellous! I congratulate you. I’m ready too; I will wait for you in the dining-room. Come down as soon as you are dressed.”
“All right!” the young man answered.
He wasted no time over his toilette, the more so because it was none too warm in his room, for at this early hour it was still quite dark; and then taking his light in one hand he opened his door carefully so as to make no noise, tiptoed along the landing, and went down the staircase to join Thérèse in the dining-room. The girl was an accomplished housekeeper already, and while waiting for the young fellow she had got a scratch meal together.
“Let us have breakfast quickly,” she suggested; “it isn’t snowing this morning, and if you like we might walk to the station. We have plenty of time, and it will do us good to have a walk.”
“It will warm us up anyhow,” Charles Rambert replied; he was only half-awake, but he sat beside Thérèse, and did justice to the preparations she had made.
“Do you know that it is very wonderful of you to get up so punctually?” Mme. de Langrune’s granddaughter remarked. “How did you manage it? Last night you were afraid you would sleep on as usual.”
“It was not much trouble for me to wake up,” Charles Rambert answered. “I hardly closed an eye all night.”
“But I promised to come and knock at your door myself, so you might have slept without any anxiety.”
“That’s so, but to tell you the truth, Thérèse, I was regularly upset and excited by the thought of papa arriving this morning.”
They had both finished breakfast, and Thérèse got up.
“Shall we start?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Thérèse opened the hall door, and the two young people went down
