The train was about to leave; it wanted but five minutes to the time, and Jacques leant over the side, surprised at not perceiving Séverine among the swarm of passengers. He felt certain she would not seat herself without first of all coming to the engine. At last she appeared, behind time, almost running. And, as he had foreseen, she passed all along the train and only stopped when beside the locomotive, her face crimson, exulting with joy. Her little feet went on tiptoe, her face rose up, laughing. "Do not be alarmed!" she exclaimed. "Here I am." He also laughed, happy to see her there, and answered: "Ah! very good! That's all right." But she went on tiptoe again, and resumed, in a lower tone: "My friend, I am pleased, very pleased. I have had a great piece of luck. All that I desired." He understood perfectly, and experienced great pleasure. Then, as she was running off, she turned round to add, in fun: "I say, don't you smash me up, now." And he gaily retorted: "Oh! what next? No fear!" But the carriage doors were being slammed. Séverine had only just time to get in. Jacques, at a signal from the chiefguard, blew the whistle, and then opened the regulator. They were off. The departure took place at the same time as that of the tragic train in February, amidst the same activity in the station, the same sounds, the same smoke. Only it was still daylight now, a clear crepuscule, infinitely soft. Séverine, with her head at the window of the door, looked out. Jacques, standing to the right on La Lison, warmly clothed in woollen trousers and vest, wearing spectacles with cloth sides, fastened behind his head under his cap, henceforth never took his eyes off the line, leaning at every minute outside the cab so as to see better. Roughly shaken by the vibration, of which he was not even conscious, his right hand rested on the reversing-wheel, like that of a pilot on the wheel of the helm; and he manœuvred it with a movement that was imperceptible and continuous, moderating, accelerating the rapidity; while, with his left hand, he never ceased sounding the whistle, for the exit from Paris is difficult, and beset with pitfalls.