ma they were to leave behind them.
He saw a sweet little pale face resting beside his in the railway train,
a blooming lip within reach of his lip, and two fathomless eyes looking
at him by the soft light of the lamp, to the soothing accompaniment of
the wheels and the steam.

Two hours before the opening of the gate for the designated train,
Frantz was already at the Lyon station, that gloomy station which, in
the distant quarter of Paris in which it is situated, seems like a first
halting-place in the provinces. He sat down in the darkest corner and
remained there without stirring, as if dazed.

Instinctively, although the appointed hour was still distant, he looked
among the people who were hurrying along, calling to one another, to see
if he could not discern that graceful figure suddenly emerging from
the crowd and thrusting it aside at every step with the radiance of her
beauty.

After many departures and arrivals and shrill whistles, the station
suddenly became empty, as deserted as a church on weekdays. The time for
the ten o'clock train was drawing near. There was no other train before
that. Frantz rose. In a quarter of an hour, half an hour at the least,
she would be there.

Frantz went hither and thither, watching the carriages that arrived.
Each new arrival made him start. He fancied that he saw her enter,
closely veiled, hesitating, a little embarrassed. How quickly he would
be by her side, to comfort her, to protect her!

The hour for the departure of the train was approaching. He looked at
the clock. There was but a quarter of an hour more. It alarmed him; but
the bell at the wicket, which had now been opened, summoned him. He ran
thither and took his place in the long line.

"Two first-class for Marseilles," he said. It seemed to him as if that
were equivalent to taking possession.

He made his way back to his post of observation through the
luggage-laden wagons and the late-comers who jostled him as they ran.
The drivers shouted, "Take care!" He stood there among the wheels of the
cabs, under the horses' feet, with deaf ears and staring eyes. Only five
minutes more. It was almost impossible for her to arrive in time.

At last she appeared.

Yes, there she is, it is certainly she--a woman in black, slender and
graceful, accompanied by another shorter woman--Madame Dobson, no doubt.

But a second glance undeceived him. It was a young woman who resembled
her, a woman of fashion like her, with a