I found also a bald-headed passenger, who was standing with his back to
me stowing his small luggage into the lower berth. He looked at me over
his shoulder for a moment, moved his bag so that I could pass, and went
on with his work. My sharing his compartment had evidently produced an
unpleasant impression.
I slipped off my overcoat, found my travelling-cap, and was about to
light a fresh cigarette when there came a tap at the door. Outside in
the aisle stood a man with a silk hat in his hand.
"Monsieur, I am the Manager of the Compagnie Internationale. It is my
pleasure to ask whether you have everything for your comfort. I am going
on to Paris with this same train, so I shall be quite within
your reach."
I thanked him for his courtesy, assured him that now that all my traps
were in my berth and the conductor had shown me to my compartment, my
wants were supplied, and watched him knock at the next door. Then I
stepped out into the aisle.
It was an ordinary European Pullman, some ten staterooms in a row, a
lavatory at one end and a three-foot sofa at the other.
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