"We shall be going on again in three minutes, sir," said the guard.
The cold was terrible; the snow entered the carriages, driving in the heads and bringing up the windows. But the agitation continued within the closed vehicles, where everyone was disturbed by a low hum of anxiety. A couple of windows alone remained down; and two travellers leaning out, three compartments away from each other, were talking. One was an American some forty years of age, and the other a young gentleman from Havre. Both were very much interested in the task of clearing away the snow.
"In America everyone would get down and take a shovel," remarked the former.
"Oh! it is nothing!" answered the other. "I was blocked twice last year. My business brings me to Paris every week."
"And mine every three weeks, or so."
"What! from New York?"
"Yes; from New York."
It was Jacques who directed the labour. Perceiving Séverine at the door of the first carriage, where she always took her seat, so as to be near him, he gave her a look of entreaty; and she, understanding, drew back out of the icy wind that was stinging her face. Then, with her occupying his thoughts, he worked away heartily.
But he remarked that the cause of the stoppage, the embedment in the snow had nothing to do with the wheels, which cut through the deepest drifts. It was the ash-pan, placed between them, that produced the obstruction, by driving the snow along, compressing it into enormous lumps. And he was struck with an idea.
"We must unscrew the ash-pan," said he.