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"Certainly no less, Monsieur Claudius," replied the future premier comic of Shanghai, shaking an imaginary frill with the graceful ease of one of Louis XV.'s noblemen. At this point, Madame Caterna came up.
The sky of purple sulphury tint became stormy toward evening, the atmosphere became stifling, the electrical tension excessive. It meant a "highly successful" storm, to quote Caterna, who assured me he had never seen a better one except perhaps in the second act of Freyschütz.
It is enough that one of the husband's witnesses should be presentable; the other, Caterna, will be sure to be magnificent!
It is a hundred and fifty kilometres from Tcharkalyk station, in the middle of the desert, amid the plains which are traversed by a little stream which flows into the Lob Nor. For twenty leagues there is no station, and the ceremony is not likely to be interrupted by any stoppage. It need hardly be said that at half-past eight I and Caterna were ready for the call.
Caterna asked for the first twice, and for the other three times. "I take my precautions," said he. "Who knows what the dining-car kitchen will give us on the Chinese railways? Let us beware of shark fins, which may perhaps be rather horny, and of swallows' nests which may not be quite fresh!" It is ten o'clock when a stroke of the gong announces that the police formalities are about to begin.
And that will not be long, if we cannot stop the retrograde movement which is beginning on our side. To the reports of the guns there are now added the cries of the women, who in their terror are running about the gangways, although Miss Bluett and Madame Caterna are trying to keep them inside the cars. A few bullets have gone through the panels, and I am wondering if any of them have hit Kinko.
'Then approach! said the Khan, and at one blow he smote off the head, which he sent back to the father with the price of the blade he had thus proved to be of excellent quality." This story he told really well. Had Caterna heard it, he would have asked for a Turkestan opera on the subject. The day passed without incident.
For drink we had tea, and Crimean wine, and Kazan beer; for meat we had mutton cutlets and excellent preserves; for dessert a melon with pears and grapes of the best quality. After breakfast I went to smoke my cigar on the platform behind the dining car. Caterna almost immediately joins me. Evidently the estimable comedian has seized the opportunity to enter into conversation with me.
Caterna has his hat shot through, and it will be remembered that it is his village bridegroom's hat, the gray beaver, with the long fur. He utters a gigantic maritime oath, something about thunder and portholes, and then, taking a most deliberate aim, quietly shoots stone dead the ruffian who has taken such a liberty with his best headgear.
And then our actor a little fresh, I admit had an idea. And such an idea! Why not resume the marriage ceremony interrupted by the attack on the train? "What marriage?" asked Ephrinell. "Yours, sir, yours," replied Caterna. "Have you forgotten it? That is rather too good!"
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