I had opened my boxes and bags, and had closed them again after a
customs officer's pretence at looking at the things which were inside.
I wanted now to go back to my carriage, but was told that I had to
pass through an adjoining room. Heaven does not know why; much less
does anybody else. In that room, out of which a glass door led to the
platform, I had to wait. Not many minutes, I was assured; but their
quality made up for the quantity. They were hateful minutes. There I
was, pasted (if I may say so) to that glass door and looking at that
unreachable goal, my carriage, which was standing just in front of me.
Outside a few travellers, favoured for some unknown reason, either by
the officials or by fate, were walking leisurely up and down, and I
noticed amongst them a very smart officer with a tall lady. He was
revolving around her with courtesies that reminded me singularly
of a cock's compliments to a hen. He had a most wonderful uniform
which fitted him to perfection. He had also a moustache, oh, what a
moustache! It gave me an idea of how his horse must be curried. And he
wore a single eye-glass, which obliged him to make the most charming
grimaces. He was holding his sword by the hilt, except at such moments
when he let it drag along the ground, in order to produce a graceful
clinking which I could hear through my accursed glass door.
At last we were relieved and set free. I hurried to my carriage to find
that the porter whom I had entrusted with my bags and valises had set
them down so as to mark all the seats. I would be alone.
"Are all the seats in this section occupied?" asked a rather rattling
voice behind me.