“Here is a splendid fellow,” I said to myself.  “I don’t know if he will turn out the hero of the drama I am in search of, but, anyhow, I will number him twelve in my traveling troupe.”

This leading star, I soon learned from Popof, bore the name of Faruskiar.  He was accompanied by another Mongol, of inferior rank, of about the same age, whose name was Ghangir.  As they looked at the van being attached to the tail of the train in front of the luggage van, they exchanged a few words.  As soon as the arrangements were complete the Persians took their places in the second-class car, which preceded the mortuary van, so as to have the precious corpse always under their surveillance.

At this moment there was a shout on the station platform I recognized the voice.  It was the Baron Weissschnitzerdoerfer shouting: 

“Stop! stop!”

This time it was not a train on the start, but a hat in distress.  A sudden gust had swept through the station and borne off the baron’s hat—­a helmet-shaped hat of a bluish color.  It rolled on the platform, it rolled on the rails, it skimmed the enclosure and went out over the wall, and its owner ran his hardest to stop it.

At the sight of this wild pursuit the Caternas held their sides, the young Chinaman, Pan Chao, shouted with laughter, while Dr. Tio-King remained imperturbably serious.

The German purple, puffling and panting, could do no more.  Twice he had got his hand on his hat, and twice it had escaped him, and now suddenly he fell full length with his head lost under the folds of his overcoat; whereupon Caterna began to sing the celebrated air from “Miss Helyett”: 

     “Ah! the superb point of view—­ew—­ew—­ew! 
     Ah! the view unexpected by you—­you—­you—­you!”

I know nothing more annoying than a hat carried away by the wind, which bounds hither and thither, and spins and jumps, and glides, and slides, and darts off just as you think you are going to catch it.  And if that should happen to me I will forgive those who laugh at the comic endeavor.

But the baron was in no mood for forgiveness.  He bounded here, and bounded there, he jumped on to the line.  They shouted to him, “Look out! look out!” for the Merv was coming in at some speed.  It brought death to the hat, the engine smashed it pitilessly, and it was only a torn rag when it was handed to the baron.  And then began again a series of imprecations on the Grand Transasiatic.

The signal is given.  The passengers, old and new, hurry to their places.  Among the new ones I notice three Mongols, of forbidding appearance, who get into the second-class car.

As I put my foot on the platform I hear the young Chinese say to his companion: 

“Well, Dr. Tio-King, did you see the German with his performing hat?  How I laughed!”

And so Pan Chao speaks French.  What do I say?  Better than French—­he speaks Persian!  Most extraordinary!  I must have a talk with him.