ir support that he nearly fell backward. In
heaven's name, what had he seen? Half reclining on a divan which
extended across one end of the car, his fine head with its dead-white
complexion and its long, silky black beard resting on his hand, the
bey, buttoned to the chin in his Oriental frock-coat, without other
ornament than the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honor across his breast
and the diamond clasp in his cap, was fanning himself impassively with
a little fan of _spartum_, embroidered with gold. Two aides-de-camp
were standing near him and an engineer of the French company. Opposite
him, upon another divan, in a respectful attitude, but one indicating
high favor, as they alone remained seated in presence of the bey, both
as yellow as saffron, their long whiskers falling over their white
cravats, sat two owls, one fat, the other thin. They were the
Hemerlingues, father and son, who had reconquered his Highness and were
carrying him in triumph to Paris. A ghastly dream! All those people,
although they knew Jansoulet well, stared coolly at him as if his face
conveyed no idea to them. Pitiably pale, with the perspiration standing
on his brow, he stammered: "But, your Highness, do you not mean to
leave--" A livid flash, like that of a sabre stroke, followed by a
frightful peal of thunder, cut him short. But the flash that shot from
the monarch's eyes seemed far more terrible to him. Rising to his feet
and stretching out his arm, the bey crushed him with these words,
prepared in advance and uttered slowly in a rather guttural voice
accustomed to the harsh Arabic syllables, but in very pure French:

"You may return home, Mercanti. The foot goes where the heart leads it,
mine shall never enter the door of the man who has robbed my country."

Jansoulet tried to say a word. The bey waved his hand: "Begone!" And
the engineer having pressed the button of an electric bell, to which a
whistle replied, the train, which had not come to a full stop,
stretched and strained its iron muscles and started ahead under full
steam, waving its flags in the wind of the storm amid whirling clouds
of dense smoke and sinister flashes.

He stood by the track, dazed, staggering, crushed, watching his fortune
recede and disappear, heedless of the great drops of rain that began to
fall upon his bare head. Then, when the others rushed toward him,
surrounded him and overwhelmed him with questions: "Isn't the Bey going
to stop?" he stammered a few