They advanced, walking with difficulty through the first car, over the first crossing, and encountering the first squall, then through the second car; but Chamblard, who went ahead, had difficulty in opening the door to the second platform.  It resisted on account of the force of the wind; finally it yielded, and Raoul received at the same time in his eyes a cloud of dust, and in his arms a young blonde, who exclaimed, “Oh, excuse me!” while he, too, exclaimed, “Oh, excuse me!” and at the same time he received the cavalryman on his back, who, also blinded by the dust, was saying, “Go on, Raoul, go on.”

The two doors of the cars had shut, and they were all three crowded in the little passage in the wind—­young Raoul, young Maurice, and the young blonde.

The “Oh, excuse me” was immediately followed by a “M.  Maurice!” which was replied to by a “Mlle. Martha!” The little blonde knew the cavalryman, and perceiving that she was almost in the arms of a stranger, Mlle. Martha disengaged herself, and backed cleverly towards the platform of the car, saying to Maurice, “You’re on the train, and you’re going?”

“To Algeria.”

“We to Marseilles.  I am getting a shawl for mamma, who is cold.  Mamma will be delighted to see you.  You will find her in the dining-car.  I’ll see you later.”

“But I will accompany you?”

“If you like.”

She walked on, but not without first having slightly bowed to young Chamblard, who had remained there astounded, contemplating Mlle. Martha with eyes filled with admiration.

She had time before going to notice that he was a good-looking young fellow, that he wore a neat little suit, and that he looked at her with staring eyes; but in those staring eyes a thought could be clearly read that could not displease her:  “Oh, how pretty you are!”

Raoul was, in fact, saying to himself:  “My type, exactly my type!  And what style—­what style in the simplicity of that costume!  And the little toque, a little on one side over the ear—­it’s a masterpiece!  How well she knows how to dress!  What an effect she would make in an audience!  And that little English accent!”

For she had a little English accent; she had even taken a good deal of trouble for several years to acquire that little accent.  She used to say to her governess, Miss Butler: 

“Yes, of course I want to know English, but I wish especially to speak French with an English accent.”  She had worked for nothing else.  She had been, fortunately, rewarded for her perseverance; her little Anglo-Parisian gibberish was at times quite original.

While Maurice was retracing his steps with Mlle. Martha, Raoul placed himself at a table in the dining-car.  He soon saw them come back with mamma’s shawl.  Maurice lingered for a few minutes at the table where the mother and the young brother of the little blonde were lunching.  Then he came back to Raoul, who said as soon as he approached: