Three months later, on a warm June night, Jacques was driving the Havre express that had left Paris at 6.30. His engine, No. 608, was quite new, and he began to know it thoroughly¹. It was not easy to handle, being restive² and capricious, after the manner of those young nags³ which require to be broken in by hard work before they take kindly⁴ to harness. He often swore at it, and regretted La Lison. Moreover, he had to watch this new locomotive very closely, and to constantly keep his hand on the reversing-wheel. But on this particular night the sky was so delightfully⁶ serene⁷, that he felt inclined to be indulgent, and allowed the engine to travel along as it would, while he found enjoyment⁸ in inhaling⁹ great draughts¹¹ of fresh air. Never had he been blessed with such splendid health. He was untroubled with remorse¹², and presented the appearance of a man relieved of anxiety, and who was perfectly¹³ tranquil¹⁴ and happy.

He who, as a rule, never spoke¹⁵ on the journey, began to joke with Pecqueux, whom the management had left with him as fireman.

"What has come to you?" he inquired. "You've got your eyes about you like a man who has been drinking nothing but water."