AS ThÉophraste was searching through the pocketbook of Signor Petito, he had wandered unconsciously away from the track into the fields. Upon returning, he was astonished to find the carriage had disappeared. He looked up and down the track, but could find no trace of it. Which was the most astonishing, the disappearance or the apparition of the train? He could not make it out, and the events had thrown him into a state bordering on prostration.

He went down the track, examined the switch, and put it back in its original position and locked it, taking the key with him.

He walked on to the upper station, but with the exception of the signalman everybody had gone out in search of the train. He interrogated him, but could only learn that the train had been reported but never came.

ThÉophraste insisted. “They certainly did report the express to you from the preceding station?”

“Yes, sir. I am certain. Look at my signal. It is still put to allow the train to pass. The station master and all the men of the station preceding saw the express pass and telegraphed to us. In short, monsieur, you see my little yellow arm. A catastrophe between the preceding station and this one is not possible; there is not a single bridge or viaduct. I was mounted on the ladder that you see leaning against that great vat. From there one can see the whole line, as far as the other station. I saw our people gesticulating on the line, but did not see the train.”

“Strange, very strange!”

“Yes, indeed. You must trust my little yellow arm.”

“Inexplicable.”

“There is nothing more inexplicable.”

“There are things more inexplicable still than that which have happened.”

“What, then?”

“A carriage without a locomotive appeared and disappeared, and no one could tell from whence it came. It disappeared, as it appeared.... Did you not see a carriage with a man at the door pass by here?”

“Monsieur,” said the signalman angrily, “you mock me! You are exaggerating because you do not believe the story of the express which did not come. But look, monsieur, at my signal; that is proof enough. It cannot make a mistake.”

M. Longuet replied to the signalman: “If you did not see the express, neither did I.”

In that “neither did I” commenced the inward thoughts of M. Longuet, who went away in Signor Petito’s clothes. M. Longuet had an idea. His misfortune was so extreme and so incurable that he resolved to die for the others. With a little cunning this was possible, since he had reclothed himself in Signor Petito’s clothes. Nothing would hinder him from leaving his on the bank of the first river he came to.

This would constitute a suicidal act, according to the law.

M. Longuet was moved to the thought of addressing a letter to Marceline and Adolphe. On the banks of what river would he put his clothes? How could he re-enter Paris? However, these thoughts passed through his head momentarily, for there was only one thing which was really of importance to him, and that was the explanation of the disappearance of the train.

This explanation was given to ThÉophraste by M. Mifroid, under the circumstances which we shall now report.