Part 3 (1/2)
In the dining-car a waiter went about preparing the tables for breakfast; two or three gentlemen, wrapped in their ulsters, their caps pulled down, were seated at the tables by the windows and kept yawning.
At one of the little tables at the end Laura and Caesar had installed themselves.
”Did you sleep, sister?” he asked.
”Yes. I did. Splendidly. And you?”
”I didn't. I can't sleep on the train.”
”That's evident.”
”I look so bad, eh?” and Caesar examined himself in one of the car mirrors. ”I certainly am absurdly pale.”
”The weather is just as horrible as ever,” she added.
They had left a Paris frozen and dark. During the whole night the cold had been most intense. One hadn't been able to put a head outside the car; snow and a furious wind had had their own violent way.
”When we reach the Mediterranean, it will change,” Laura had said.
It had not; they were on the edge of the sea and the cold continued intense and the weather dark.
HOW BEAUTIFUL!
The train began its journey again; the houses of Ma.r.s.eilles could be seen through the morning haze; the Mediterranean appeared, greenish, whitish, and fields covered with h.o.a.r-frost.
”What horrid weather!” exclaimed Laura, shuddering. ”I dislike the cold more and more all the time.”
The dining-car waiter came and filled their cups with _cafe-au-lait_.
Laura drew off her gloves and took one of the hot cups between her white hands.
”Oh, this is comforting!” she said.
Caesar began to sip the boiling liquid.
”I don't see how you can stand it. It's scalding.”
”That's the way to get warm,” replied Caesar, undisturbed.
Laura began to take her coffee by spoonfuls. Just then there come into the dining-car a tall blond gentleman and a young, charming lady, each smarter than the other. The man bowed to Laura with much formality.
”Who is he?” asked Caesar.
”He is the second son of Lord Marchmont, and he has married a Yankee millionairess.”
”You knew him in Rome?”
”No, I knew him at Florence last year, and he paid me attention rather boldly.”