"Ah!" resumed Moulin. "When trains arrive after eleven o'clock at night, there is no fear of the men giving the coaches a brush up. It's as much as they will do to cast a glance inside of them. The other night, they overlooked a passenger asleep on one of the seats, and he only awoke the next morning." Then, stifling a yawn, he said he was going up to bed. But as he went off, an abrupt feeling of curiosity brought him back. "By the way, what about your affair with the sub-prefect?" he inquired. "It's all settled, I suppose?" "Yes, yes," answered Roubaud. "I made a very good journey. I'm quite satisfied." "Well, so much the better. And bear in mind that the 293 does not start," replied the other. When Roubaud found himself alone on the platform, he slowly went back towards the Montivilliers train, which was ready. The doors of the waiting-rooms were open, and some passengers appeared: a few sportsmen with their dogs, and two or three families of shop-keepers, taking advantage of the Sunday--only a few people altogether. But when that train had gone, the first of the day, Roubaud had not much time to lose. He immediately had to make up the 5.40 slow train for Rouen and Paris. At this early hour not many servants of the company were about; and the work of the assistant station-master on duty, was complicated by all sorts of details. When he had superintended the making-up of the train, consisting in each carriage being taken from the coach-house and placed on a truck, which a gang of men pushed along under the marquee, he had to run off to the main building, to give a glance at the ticket office, and the luggage booking department. A quarrel breaking out between some soldiers and one of the staff, necessitated his intervention. For half an hour, in the icy draughts, amid the shivering public, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and in the ill-humour of a man jostled at every moment in the obscurity, he hurried hither and thither without a moment to himself. Then, when the departure of the slow train had cleared the station, he hastened to the box of the pointsman, to make sure that all was right in that quarter. For the through train from Paris, which was behind time, was coming in. He returned to the platform to see the stream of passengers leave the carriages, give up their tickets, and crowd into the omnibuses from the hotels, which in those days entered the station, to wait under the marquee, where they were separated from the line by a mere paling. And then, only, did he find leisure to breathe for a moment, the station having again become silent and deserted.