.

MADAME HAS HER WAY.
The Marseilles express was ready on the quay, where the postmen ran, and the carriages rolled amid smoke and noise, under the light that fell from the windows.

Through the open doors travellers in long cloaks came and went.

At the end of the station, blinding with soot and dust, a small rainbow could be discerned, not larger than one's hand.

Countess Martin and the good Madame Marniet were already in their carriage, under the rack loaded with bags, among newspapers thrown on the cushions.
Choulette had not appeared, and Madame Martin expected him no longer.
Yet he had promised to be at the station.