"To-morrow evening."
"That will be too late. It must wait."
"That is impossible. If you wish to go on, please get in."
"I will not go," replied the lady.
Fix heard this conversation. A short time before, when there was no chance of his going on, he had decided to leave Kearney, and now that it was necessary for him to take his place, something seemed to detain him. The conflict in his mind waxed fiercer, he wished to fight it out.
Meantime the passengers, some of them wounded, including Colonel Proctor, took their places in the train, which started immediately and soon disappeared, the steam mingling with the falling snow.
Fix had remained behind.
Some hours passed away. The weather was wretched and very cold. Fix remained seated, apparently asleep, on a bench. Aouda, notwithstanding the tempest, continually came out of the room set apart for her, and walking to the extremity of the platform, attempted to penetrate the thick falling snow, as she listened intently for some sound of the return of the escort. But she saw and heard nothing, and would return chilled to the bone, only to sally forth once more in vain.
Night fell, the troops had not returned; the commandant began to feel anxious, though he did not betray his anxiety. The snow fell less thickly now, but the cold was intense; absolute silence reigned around. All night Mrs. Aouda kept wandering about, filled with the most dismal forebodings—her imagination suggested a thousand dangers, and her anxiety was terrible.
Fix remained immovable, but he did not sleep either. A man approached him once and spoke to him, but a shake of the head was the only reply he received.