continual excitement; one goes almost mad with it. One sees nothing but
dancers in skin-tights, actresses in very low dresses, round legs, fat
shoulders, all nearly within reach of one's hands, without daring or
being able, to touch it, and one scarcely tastes some inferior dish,
once or twice. And one leaves it, one's heart still all in a flutter,
and one's mind still exhilarated by a sort of longing for kisses which
tickles one's lips."

* * * * *

Morin was in that state when he took his ticket for La Rochelle by the
8:40 night express. And he was walking up and down the waiting-room at
the station, when he stopped suddenly in front of a young lady who was
kissing an old one. She had her veil up, and Morin murmured with
delight: "By Jove, what a pretty woman!"

When she had said "Good-bye" to the old lady, she went into the
waiting-room, and Morin followed her; then she went onto the platform,
and Morin still followed her; then she got into an empty carriage, and
he again followed her. There were very few travelers by the express, the
engine whistled, and the train started. They were alone. Morin devoured
her with his eyes. She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty, and was
fair, tall and with bold looks. She wrapped a railway rug round her
legs, and stretched herself on the seat to sleep.

Morin asked himself: "I wonder who she is?" And a thousand conjectures,
a thousand projects went through his head. He said to himself: "So many
adventures are told as happening on railway journeys that this may be
one that is going to present itself to me. Who knows? A piece of good
luck like that happens very quickly, and perhaps I need only be a little