ick were taken out of the station, and a mass of stretchers, litters,
and hand-carts, with piles of pillows and mattresses, obstructed the
broad walk. Three parties of bearers were also assembled here, persons of
well-nigh every class, but more particularly young men of good society,
all wearing red, orange-tipped crosses and straps of yellow leather. Many
of them, too, had adopted the Bearnese cap, the convenient head-gear of
the region; and a few, clad as though they were bound on some distant
expedition, displayed wonderful gaiters reaching to their knees. Some
were smoking, whilst others, installed in their little vehicles, slept or
read newspapers by the light of the neighbouring gas jets. One group,
standing apart, were discussing some service question.

Suddenly, however, one and all began to salute. A paternal-looking man,
with a heavy but good-natured face, lighted by large blue eyes, like
those of a credulous child, was approaching. It was Baron Suire, the
President of the Hospitality of Our Lady of Salvation. He possessed a
great fortune and occupied a high position at Toulouse.

"Where is Berthaud?" he inquired of one bearer after another, with a busy
air. "Where is Berthaud? I must speak to him."

The others answered, volunteering contradictory information. Berthaud was
their superintendent, and whilst some said that they had seen him with
the Reverend Father Fourcade, others affirmed that he must be in the
courtyard of the station inspecting the ambulance vehicles. And they
thereupon offered to go and fetch him.

"No, no, thank you," replied the Baron. "I shall manage to find him
myself."

Whilst this was happening, Berthaud, who had just seated himself on a
bench at the other end of the station, was talking with his young friend,
Gerard de Peyrelongue, by way of occupation pending the arrival of the
train. The superintendent of the bearers was a man of forty, with a
broad, regular-featured, handsome face and carefully trimmed whiskers of
a lawyer-like pattern. Belonging to a militant Legitimist family and
holding extremely reactionary opinions, he had been Procureur de la
Republique (public prosecutor) in a town of the south of France from the
time of the parliamentary revolution of the twenty-fourth of May* until
that of the decree of the Religious Communities,** when he had resigned
his post in a blusterous fashion, by addressing an insulting letter to
the Minister of Justice. And he had never since