erking in the knowing way of public functionaries who feel
people are looking at them. And you can imagine how noses were flattened
against the windows to see all this hierarchical swelldom. There
was Monpavon, his shirt-front bulging like a whipped egg. Cardailhac
breathlessly giving his last orders, and the honest face of Jansoulet,
whose sparkling eyes, set over his fat, sunburnt cheeks, looked like two
gold nails in a goffering of Spanish leather. Suddenly an electric
bell rang. The station-master, in a new uniform, ran down the line:
"Gentlemen, the train is signalled. It will be here in eight minutes."
Every one started, and with the same instinctive movement pulled out
their watches. Only six minutes more. Then in the great silence some one
said: "Look over there!" To the right, on the side from which the train
was to come, two great slopes, covered with vines, made a sort of funnel
into which the track disappeared as though swallowed up. Just then all
this hollow was as black as ink, darkened by an enormous cloud, a bar of
gloom, cutting the blue of the sky perpendicularly, throwing out banks
that resembled cliffs of basalt on which the light broke all white like
moonshine. In the solemnity of the deserted track, over the lines of
silent rails where one felt that everything was ready for the coming
of the prince, it was terrifying to see this aerial crag approaching,
throwing its shadow before it, to watch the play of the perspective
which gave the cloud a slow, majestic movement, and the shadow the
rapidity of a galloping horse. "What a storm we shall have directly!"
was the thought which came to every one, but none had voice to express
it, for a strident whistle sounded and the train appeared at the end of
the dark funnel. A real royal train, rapid and short, and decorated with
flags. The smoking, roaring engine carried a large bouquet of roses on
its breastplate, like a bridesmaid at some leviathan wedding.

It came out of the funnel at full speed, but slowed down as it
approached. The functionaries grouped themselves, straightened their
backs, hitched their swords and eased their collars, while Jansoulet
went down the track to meet the train, an obsequious smile on his lips,
his back curved ready for the "Salam Alek." The train proceeded very
slowly. Jansoulet thought it had stopped, and put his hand on the door
of the royal carriage, glittering with gold under the black sky. But,
doubtless, the impetus had b