f the prince； it was terrifying to see this aerial crag approaching； throwing its shadow before it； to watch the play of the perspective which gave the cloud a slow； majestic movement； and the shadow the rapidity of a galloping horse。 〃What a storm we shall have directly！〃 was the thought which came to every one； but none had voice to express it； for a strident whistle sounded and the train appeared at the end of the dark funnel。 A real royal train； rapid and short； and decorated with flags。 The smoking； roaring engine carried a large bouquet of roses on its breastplate； like a bridesmaid at some leviathan wedding。
It came out of the funnel at full speed； but slowed down as it approached。 The functionaries grouped themselves； straightened their backs； hitched their swords and eased their collars； while Jansoulet went down the track to meet the train； an obsequious smile on his lips； his back curved ready for the 〃Salam Alek。〃 The train proceeded very slowly。 Jansoulet thought it had stopped； and put his hand on the door of the royal carriage； glittering with gold under the black sky。 But； doubtless； the impetus had been too strong； and the train continued to advance； the Nabob walking beside it； trying to open the accursed door which was stuck fast； and making signs to the engine… driver。 The engine was not answering。 〃Stop； stop； there！〃 It did not stop。 Losing patience； he jumped on to the velvet…covered step； and in that fiery； impulsive manner of his which had so delighted the old Bey； he cried； his woolly head at the door； 〃Saint…Romans station； your Highness。〃
You know the sort of vague light there is in dreams； the colourless empty atmosphere where everything has the look of a phantom。 Jansoulet was suddenly enveloped in this； stricken； paralyzed。 He wanted to speak； words would not come； his nerveless hand held the door so feebly that he almost fell backward。 What had he seen？ On a divan at the back of the saloon； reposing on his elbow； his beautiful dark head with its long silky beard leaning on his hand； was the Bey； close wrapped in his Oriental coat； without other ornaments than the large ribbon of the Legion of Honour across his breast and the diamond in the aigrette of his fez。 He was fanning himself impassively with a little fan of gold…embroidered strawwork。 Two aides…de…camp and an engineer of the railway company were standing beside him。 Opposite； on another divan； in a respectful attitude； but favoured evidently； as they were the only ones seated in the Bey's presence； were two owl… like men； their long whiskers falling on their white ties； one fat and the other thin。 They were the Hemerlingues； father and son； who had won over his Highness and were bearing him off in triumph to Paris。 What a horrible dream！ All three men； who knew Jansoulet well； looked at him coldly as though his face recalled nothing。 Piteously white； his forehead covered with sweat； he stammered； 〃But； your Highness； are you not going to〃 A vivid flash of lightning； followed by a terrible peal of thunder； stopped the words。 But the lightning in the eyes of his sovereign seemed to him as terrible。 Sitting up； his arm outstretched； in guttural voice as of one accustomed to roll the hard Arab syllables； but in pure French； the Bey struck him down with the slow； carefully prepared words： 〃Go home； swindler。 The feet go where the heart guides。 Mine will never enter the house of the man who has cheated my country。〃
Jansoulet tried to say something。 The Bey made a sign： 〃Go on。〃 The engineer pressed a button； a whistle replied； the train； which had never really stopped； seemed to stretch itself； making all its iron muscles crack； to take a bound and start off at full speed； the flags fluttering in the storm…wind； and the black smoke meeting the lightning flashes。
Jansoulet； left standing on the track； staggering； stunned； ruined； watched his fortune fly away and disappear； oblivious of the large drops of rain which were falling on his bare head。 Then； when the others rushed upon him； surrounded him； rained questions upon him； he stuttered some disconnected words： 〃Court intriguesinfamous plot。〃 And suddenly； shaking his fist after the train； with eyes that were bloodshot； and a foam of rage upon his lips； he roared like a wild beast； 〃Blackguards！〃
〃You forget yourself； Jansoulet； you forget yourself。〃 You guess who it was that uttered those words； and； taking the Nabob's arm； tried to pull him together； to make him hold his head as high as his own； conducted him to the carriage through the rows of stupefied people in uniform； and made him get in； exhausted and broken； like a near relation of the deceased that one hoists into a mourning…coach after the funeral。 The rain began to fall； peals of thunder followed one another。 Every one now hurried into the carriages； which quickly took the homeward road。 Then there occurred a heart…rending yet comical thing； one of the cruel farces played by that cowardly destiny which kicks its victims after they are down。 In the falling day and the growing darkness of the cyclone； the crowd； squeezed round the approaches of the station； thought they saw his Highness somewhere amid the gorgeous trappings； and as soon as the wheels started an immense clamour； a frightful bawling； which had been hatching for an hour in all those breasts； burst out； rose； rolled； rebounded from side to side and prolonged itself in the valley。 〃Hurrah； hurrah for the Bey！〃 This was the signal for the first bands to begin； the choral societies started in their turn； and the noise growing step by step； the road from Giffas to Saint…Romans was nothing but an uninterrupted bellow。 Cardailhac and all the gentlemen； Jansoulet himself； leant in vain out of the windows making desperate signs； 〃That will do！ That's enough！〃 Their gestures were lost in the tumult and the darkness； what the crowd did see seemed to act only as an excitant。 And I promise you there was no need of that。 All these meridionals； whose enthusiasm had been carefully led since early morning； excited the more by the long wait and the storm； shouted with all the force of their voices and the strength of their lungs； mingling with the song of Provence the cry of 〃Hurrah for the Bey！〃 till it seemed a perpetual chorus。 Most of them had no idea what a Bey was； did not even think about it。 They accentuated the appellation in an extraordinary manner as though it had three b's and ten y's。 But it made no difference； they excited themselves with the cry； holding up their hands； waving their hats； becoming agitated as a result of their own activity。 Women wept and rubbed their eyes。 Suddenly； from the top of an elm； the shrill voice of a child made itself heard： 〃Mamma； mammaI see him！〃 He saw him！ They all saw him； for that matter！ Now even； they will all swear to you they saw him！
Confronted by such a delirium； in the impossibility of imposing silence and calm on such a crowd； there was only one thing for the people in the carriages to do： to leave them alone； pull up the windows and dash along at full speed。 It would at least shorten a bitter martyrdom。 But this was even worse。 Seeing the procession hurrying； all the road began to gallop with it。 To the dull booming of their tambourines the dancers from Barbantane； hand in hand； spranga living garlandround the carriage doors。 The choral societies； breathless with singing as they ran； but singing all the same； dragged on their standard…bearers； the banners now hanging over their shoulders； and the good； fat priests； red and panting； shoving their vast overworked bellies before them； still found strength to shout into the very ear of the mules； in an unctuous； effusive voice； 〃Long live our noble Bey！〃 The rain on all this； the rain falling in buckets； discolouring the pink coaches； precipitating the disorder； giving the appearance of a rout to this triumphal return； but a comic rout； mingled with songs and laughs； mad embraces； and infernal oaths。 It was something like the return of a religious procession flying before a storm； cassocks turned up； surplices over heads； and the Blessed Sacrament put back in all haste； under a porch。
The dull roll of the wheels over the wooden bridge told the poor Nabob； motionless and silent in a corner of his carriage； that they were almost there。 〃At last！〃 he said； looking through the clouded windows at the foaming waters of the Rhone； whose tempestuous rush seemed calm after what he had just suffered。 But at the end of the bridge； when the first carriage reached the great triumphal arch； rockets went off； drums beat； saluting the monarch as he entered the estates of his faithful subject。 To crown the irony； in the gathering darkness a gigantic flare of gas suddenly illuminated the roof of the castle； and in spite of the wind and the rain； these fiery letters could still be seen very plainly； 〃Long liv' th' B'Y 'HMED！〃
〃Thatthat is the wind…up；〃 said the poor Nabob； who could not help laughing； though it was a very piteous and bitter laugh。 But no； he was mistaken。 The end was the bouquet waiting at the castle door。 Amy Ferat came to present it； leaving the group of country maidens under the veranda； where they were trying to shelter the shining silks of their skirts and the embroidered velvets of their caps as they waited for the first carriage。 Her bunch of flowers in her hand； modest； her eyes downcast； but showing a roguish leg； the pretty actress sprang forward to the door in a low courtesy； almost on her knees； a pose she had worked at for a week。 Instead of the Bey； Jansoulet got out； stiff and troubled； and passed without even seeing her。 And as she stayed there； bouquet in hand； with the silly look of a stage fairy who has missed her cue； Cardailhac said to her with the ready chaff of the Parisian who is never at a loss： 〃Take away your flowers； my dear。 The Bey is not coming。 He had forgotten his handkerchief； and as it is only with that he speaks to ladies； you understand〃
Now it is night。 Everything is asleep at Saint…Romans after the tremendous uproar of the day。 Torrents of rain continue to fall； and in the park； where the triumphal arches and the Venetian masts still lift vaguely their soaking carcasses； one can hear streams rushing down the slopes transformed int