The train drew up to the platform; and I saw that the stoker was at his post, and that the engine-driver was an Englishman.
I endeavored in vain to draw his attention to warn him, and was compelled to take my seat, which I did in the compartment next the guard's break—the train consisting of only that carriage and another, in which were the count, his mother, and the servant.
The guard passed along the train, locked the doors, and entered his box.
"The Florence goods is behind you, and the Sienna goods is due at Empoli Junction four minutes before you; mind you don't run into it," said the station-master, with a laugh.
"No fear; we shall not run into it," said the guard, with a marked emphasis on the "we" and "it" that I recalled afterward.
The whistle sounded, and we were off. It was a drizzling dark night; and I lay down full length on the seat to sleep.
As I lay down a gleam of light shot across the carriage from a small chink in the wood-work of the partition between the compartment I was in and the guard's box.
I was terribly anxious for the manner of the guard; and this seemed to be a means of hearing something more. I lay down and listened attentively.
"How much will you give for your life, my little fox?" said the guard.
"To-day, very little; when I am sixty, all I have, Conrad."