He started by the express on Monday evening. He was late, got to the station only a very short time before the departure of the train, and had barely time to get into a carriage, with only one other occupant, who was sitting in a corner so wrapped in furs and cloaks that he could not even make out whether it were a man or a woman, as nothing of the figure could be seen. When he perceived that he could not find out, he put on his travelling-cap, rolled himself up in his rugs, and stretched himself out comfortably to sleep.
He did not wake up till the day was breaking, and looked immediately at his fellow-traveller. He had not stirred all night, and seemed still to be sound asleep.
M. d'Étraille made use of the opportunity to brush his hair and his beard, and to try and freshen himself up a little generally, for a night's travelling changes one's looks very much when one has attained a certain age.
A great poet has said:
Quand on est jeune, on a des matins triomphants!
Then we wake up with a cool skin, a bright eye, and glossy hair. When one grows older one wakes up in a very different state. Dull eyes, red, swollen cheeks, dry lips, the hair and beard all disarranged, impart an old, fatigued, worn-out look to the face.
The Baron opened his travelling dressing-case, made himself as tidy as he could, and then waited.
The engine whistled and the train stopped, and his neighbour moved. No doubt he was awake. They started off again, and then an oblique ray of the sun shone into the carriage just on to the sleeper, who moved again, shook himself, and then calmly showed his face.
It was a young, fair, pretty, stout woman, and the Baron looked at her in amazement. He did not know what to believe. He could really have sworn that it was his wife—but wonderfully changed for the better: stouter—why, she had grown as stout as he was—only it suited her much better than it did him.
She looked at him quietly, did not seem to recognise him, and then slowly laid aside her wraps. She had that calm assurance of a woman who is sure of herself, the insolent audacity of a first awaking, knowing and feeling that she was in her full beauty and freshness.