ction was as black as ink, obscured by
an enormous cloud, a threatening wall cutting the blue as with a knife,
rearing palisades, lofty cliffs of basalt on which the light broke like
white foam with the pallid gleam of moonlight. In the solemn silence of
the deserted track, along that line of rails where one felt that
everything, so far as the eye could see, stood aside for the passage of
his Highness, that aerial cliff was a terrifying spectacle as it
advanced, casting its shadow before it with that illusion of
perspective which gave to the cloud a slow, majestic movement and to
its shadow the rapid pace of a galloping horse. "What a storm we are
going to have directly!" That was the thought that came to them all;
but they had not time to express it, for an ear-piercing whistle was
heard and the train appeared in the depths of the dark tunnel. A
typical royal train, short and travelling fast, decorated with French
and Tunisian flags, its groaning, puffing locomotive, with an enormous
bouquet of roses on its breast, representing the maid of honor at a
wedding of Leviathans.

It came rushing on at full speed, but slackened its pace as it drew
near. The functionaries formed a group, drawing themselves up,
arranging their swords, adjusting their false collars, while Jansoulet
walked along the track toward the train, the obsequious smile on his
lips and his back already bent for the "Salem alek!" The train
continued to move, very slowly. Jansoulet thought that it had stopped,
and placed his hand on the door of the royal carriage glittering with
gold under the black sky; but the headway was too great, doubtless, for
the train still went forward, the Nabob walking beside it, trying to
open that infernal door which resisted all his efforts, and with the
other hand making a sign of command to the machine. But the machine did
not obey. "Stop, I tell you!" It did not stop. Impatient at the delay,
he sprang upon the velvet-covered step, and with the somewhat
presumptuous impetuosity, which used to please the former bey so much,
he cried out, thrusting his great curly head in at the window:

"Station for Saint-Romans, your Highness!"

You know that sort of vague light peculiar to dreams, that colorless,
empty atmosphere, in which everything assumes a ghostly aspect? well,
Jansoulet was suddenly enveloped, made prisoner, paralyzed by it. He
tried to speak, but the words would not come; his nerveless fingers
clung so feebly to the