But at the level-crossing near Le Viviers he suffered an exasperating check. The gates were closed. Insistent appeals failing to bring the gate-keeper from his cabin, one of the men got out of the car to open the gates himself. But a prudential management had ordained that the apparatus should not be easily manipulated by the first-comer, and the man was still fumbling with it when the keeper appeared from behind a hedge, and with great indignation demanded what he meant by interfering with the property of the railway.
Then ensued a brisk and heated altercation, in which the honours lay with authority. It is wonderful what assurance even the meanest office gives. The Count demanded that the gates should be opened instantly. The gate-keeper replied that not for the President of the Republic himself would he open them until the train had passed. The Count produced his card.
“Germans!” muttered the official, sniffing.
“But no; we are Russians!” cried the exasperated Count.
“I know those Russians!” replied the man grimly.
The Count produced a five-franc piece.
“Hé quoi! you think to bribe me!” said the scandalised official.
“Really, my good man,” said the Count, struggling to command his temper, “you exceed your duty.”
“Ah! Monsieur perhaps knows his duty well. Where is Monsieur’s certificat de capacité?”
“What right have you to ask that?”