... Some of the Black People sat down
near me and smoked. Their enormous faces, wads of vital darkness, swooned
with fatigue. Their vast gentle hands lay noisily about their knees.
The departed _gendarme_ returned, with a bump, out of the mist. The train
for Paris would arrive _de suite_. We were just in time, our movement had
so far been very creditable. All was well. It was cold, eh?
Then with the ghastly miniature roar of an insane toy the train for Paris
came fumbling into the station....
We boarded it, due caution being taken that I should not escape. As a
matter of fact I held up the would-be passengers for nearly a minute by
my unaided attempts to boost my uncouth baggage aboard. Then my captors
and I blundered heavily into a compartment in which an Englishman and two
French women were seated. My _gendarmes_ established themselves on either
side of the door, a process which woke up the Anglo-Saxon and caused a
brief gap in the low talk of the women. Jolt--we were off.
I find myself with a _francaise_ on my left and an _anglais_ on my right.
The latter has already uncomprehendingly subsided into sleep. The former
(a woman of about thirty) is talking pleasantly to her friend, whom I
face.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70