we were
obliged to assume nonchalance and go into the corridor. All the
windows of the corridor were covered with frost traceries. The train
with its enclosed heat and its gleaming lamps was plunging through an
ice-gripped night. I thought of the engine-driver, perched on his
shaking, snorting, monstrous machine, facing the weather, with our
lives and our loves in his hand.

'We'll leave each other now, Frank,' I said, 'before the people begin to
come back from dinner. Go and eat something.'

'But you?'

'I shall be all right. Yvonne will get me some fruit. I shall stay in our
compartment till we arrive.'

'Yes. And when we do arrive--what then? What are your wishes? You see,
I can't leave the train before we get to Mentone because of my
registered luggage.'

He spoke appealingly.

The dear thing, with his transparent pretexts!

'You can ignore us at the station, and then leave Mentone again
during the day.'

'As you wish,' he said.

'Good-night!' I whispered. 'Good-bye!' And I turned to my compartment.

'Carlotta!' he cried despairingly.

But I shut the door and drew the blinds.

Yvonne was discretion itself when she returned. She had surely seen
Frank. No doubt she anticipated piquant developments at Mentone.

All night I lay on my narrow bed, with Yvonne faintly snoring above me,
and the harsh, metallic rattle of the swinging train beneath. I could
catch the faint ticking of my watch under the thin pillow. The lamp burnt
delicately within its green shade. I lay almost moveless, almost dead,
shifting only at long intervals from side to side. Sometimes my brain
would arouse itself, and I would live again through each scene of my
relationship with Frank and Mary. I often thought of the engine-driver,
outside, watching over us and unflinchingly dragging us on. I hoped that
his existence had compensations.

V

Early on the second morning after that interview in the train I sat on
my balcony in the Hotel d'Ecosse, full in the tremendous sun that had
ascended over the Mediterranean. The shore road wound along beneath me
by the blue water that never receded nor advanced, lopping always the
same stones. A vivid yellow electric tram, like a toy, crept forward on
my left from the direction of Vintimille and Italy, as it were swimming
noiselessly on the smooth surface of the road among the palms of an
intense green, against the bright blue background of the sea; and
another tram advanced, a spot of o