ely time to jump on the step of his car.

"Ouf! that's done," he said to the cavalryman. "Suppose we lunch."

So they both started on their way to the dining-car. It was quite a
journey, for two parlor-cars separated them from the restaurant-car, and
those two cars were crowded. It was the season for the great pilgrimage
of a few Parisians and a good many English towards Nice, Cannes, and
Monte Carlo. The express was running very fast, and was pitching
violently. One needed sea-legs. Then a furious wind beat against the
train, and wrapped it in clouds of dust, making the crossing of the
platforms particularly disagreeable.

They advanced, walking with difficulty through the first car, over the
first crossing, and encountering the first squall, then through the
second car; but Chamblard, who went ahead, had difficulty in opening the
door to the second platform. It resisted on account of the force of the
wind; finally it yielded, and Raoul received at the same time in his
eyes a cloud of dust, and in his arms a young blonde, who exclaimed,
"Oh, excuse me!" while he, too, exclaimed, "Oh, excuse me!" and at the
same time he received the cavalryman on his back, who, also blinded by
the dust, was saying, "Go on, Raoul, go on."

The two doors of the cars had shut, and they were all three crowded in
the little passage in the wind--young Raoul, young Maurice, and the
young blonde.

The "Oh, excuse me" was immediately followed by a "M. Maurice!" which
was replied to by a "Mlle. Martha!" The little blonde knew the
cavalryman, and perceiving that she was almost in the arms of a
stranger, Mlle. Martha disengaged herself, and backed cleverly towards
the platform of the car, saying to Maurice, "You're on the train, and
you're going?"

"To Algeria."

"We to Marseilles. I am getting a shawl for mamma, who is cold. Mamma
will be delighted to see you. You will find her in the dining-car. I'll
see you later."

"But I will accompany you?"

"If you like."

She walked on, but not without first having slightly bowed to young
Chamblard, who had remained there astounded, contemplating Mlle. Martha
with eyes filled with admiration.

She had time before going to notice that he was a good-looking young
fellow, that he wore a neat little suit, and that he looked at her with
staring eyes; but in those staring eyes a thought could be clearly read
that could not displease her: "Oh, how pretty you are!"

Raoul was, in fact, saying to him