Grand Transasiatic."

I had not noticed Faruskiar during my walk. Had he alighted at one of
the small stations between Tchertchen and Tcharkalyk, where we ought to
have been about one o'clock in the afternoon?

No, he and Ghangir were on the gangway in front of our car. They seemed
to be in animated conversation, and only stopped to take a good look
toward the northeastern horizon. Had the Mongol brought some news which
had made them throw off their usual reserve and gravity? And I
abandoned myself to my imagination, foreseeing adventures, attacks of
bandits, and so on, according to my dream.

I was recalled to reality by the Reverend Nathaniel Morse, who said to
me, "It is fixed for to-day, at nine o'clock; do not forget."

That meant the marriage of Fulk Ephrinell and Horatia Bluett. Really, I
was not thinking of it. It is time for me to go and dress for the
occasion. All I can do will be to change my shirt. It is enough that
one of the husband's witnesses should be presentable; the other,
Caterna, will be sure to be magnificent!

In fact, the actor had gone into the luggage van--how I trembled for
Kinko!--and there, with Popof's assistance, had got out of one of his
boxes a somewhat free-and-easy costume, but one certain of success at a
wedding: A primrose coat with metal buttons, and a buttonhole, a sham
diamond pin in the cravat, poppy-colored breeches, copper buckles,
flowered waistcoat, clouded stockings, thread gloves, black pumps, and
white beaver hat. What a number of bridegrooms and uncles of
bridegrooms our friend had been in this traditional attire! He looked
superb, with his beaming face, his close-shaven chin, and blue cheeks,
and his laughing eyes and rosy lips.

Madame Caterna was quite as glorious in her array. She had easily
discovered a bridesmaid's costume in her wardrobe, bodice with
intercrossing stripes, short petticoat in green woolen, mauve
stockings, straw hat with artificial flowers, a suspicion of black on
the eyelids and of rouge on the cheeks. There you have the provincial
stage beauty, and if she and her husband like to play a village piece
after the breakfast, I can promise them bravos enough.

It was at nine o'clock that this marriage was to take place, announced
by the bell of the tender, which was to sound full clang as if it were
a chapel bell. With a little imagination, we could believe we were in a
village. But whither did this bell invite the witnesses and guests?
Into th