He had a bullet head, with
hair so black as to seem more like a thick, shining coat of varnish than
hair. His eyes were very large and expressed a burning energy, as if he
were nerving himself to a great feat, and the moment of action had
arrived. Mary watched him, in a sudden flash of curious interest, as if
she must at all costs see what he was going to do, and then make her
decision. This was a ridiculous idea, but she could not take her eyes
off the child, as the train slowly approached him on its way into the
station. He drew in a great breath, which empurpled the brown of his
face, and then emitted a single word, "As-cen-s-e-u-r!" in a singing
roar, into which he threw his whole soul, as a young tiger does. As the
train passed the boy, Mary, gazing out of the corridor window, looked
straight down the deep round tunnel that was his open mouth, and caught
his strained eye. He suddenly looked self-conscious, and broke into a
foolish yet pleasant smile. Mary smiled too, like a child, showing her
dimples. Then she knew that she would get out at Monte Carlo no matter
what happened.
At this instant, as the train stopped with a slight jerk, the attendant
in his neat brown uniform whisked past Mary into her compartment, to
snatch Miss Wardropp's bag and earn his fee. By this time the passengers
who were alighting at Monte Carlo had pressed down the corridor in a
procession, treading on each others' heels.
"If I should get out here, could I use my ticket afterward on to
Florence?" Mary hastily inquired in French.
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