The year is 1933. Angelique Collins in a desperate attempt to save Barnabas Collins from his entrapment beyond time and space has invoked the mysterious Orb of Solace. A magical artifact that allows one to travel back in time to a particular moment of their hearts desire. For Angelique, this moment is upon the Orient Express in 1933 where she seeks yet another artifact which she believes will allow her to open the rift separating Barnabas from the current time line. But as she will soon discover there are others seeking the same object of her desire.
Armelle Ménards patience had been all but exhausted. She arose from the wooden bench and turned once more to look back toward the road, expecting to see his car coming around the curve. It did not. And the cold, it was becoming too much to bear for very much longer. She frowned and prepared to turn away. To stride from the seat she had occupied for quite some time and in one of her perfected, haughty piques, and ascent into the train. But, just as she was beginning to pull her coat around her tighter and was about to turn away, there in the distance, the long, low Mercedes-Benz could be seen racing along the small roadway.
Joseph Salpêtrière shifts gears and accelerates dangerously around a sharp curve as he hurries along now to catch the trainhe is late, very late. And he very well knows that Armelle will be seriously displeased. The damned bookseller had taken too long and it was all for naught.
As he pushed the accelerator he is more than aware that Armelle would by now be really quite furious.
He cut the corner and drove well past the snow shaved tarmac of the parking lot and bounded the car across an open field among the back buildings. The Mercedes slid to a sideways halt as he brought the closer to the end of the train platform
Inside the Orient Express Dr. Henry Armitage carefully closes the door between the coach that house the compartments and the lavish salon and dining car. He notes there are very few passengers in attendance.
The car downshifts with a grind of gears and the tires slide on the newly fallen snow as the Mercedes tires spin upon the freshly fallen snow.
From the platform, looking down at the car coming to a halt, Armelle, watches the rash Salpêtrière violate several restrictions on automotives and their usage in and around the train station, as she taps her foot impatiently.
Joseph Salpêtrière cuts the motor; lets the car glide to a halt; the door opening before it has settled, and hes off the running board and into the ankle deep snow. He shivers in the cold as he is without his overcoat as he hurries now toward the platform. And yet, he is ever certain to maintain his self-possessed aplomb as he slowly begins to straighten his collar, the knot of his tie, and adjust his cuffs, careful to assure he gives the appearance of refined grace and poise. His clothes are immaculate. He hurries across the new fallen show, his expensive shoes kicking up hoary bursts of the icy powder. A few of those upon the platform now turn to stare as he quickly approaches assured as usual that he every male eye looking at him does so with envy for his sense of fashion and debonair flair, while every womans is captured by exceedingly good looks.
He sees Armelle and the look she cuts him is stern . . . more severe than the time he left her at the café for over two hours while he transacted a rather advantageous deal in the back room of a jewelers. He smiles that dazzling smile, even as his hand slips into his jacket in search of his cigarette case.
His shoes gaining purchase on the slipper stone steps that led up the back wall of the station platform, Armelle is well aware of the general discussion growing behind her well, the whispers, as the ladies are pointing out the handsome gentleman hurrying toward the platform, each of them in a general accord that he was racing to meet a woman. And as it was becoming very obvious that the woman was she, Armelle felt their eyes glance at her in envy.
She smiled.
Of course the lades were unaware of three facts that should be well know about Joseph Salpêtrière:
He was well over a hundred years old.
He kept dark secrets that even Armelle didnt know.
And as handsome as he was, he was by far, even more dangerous.
It was this last fact that had attracted Armelle to him.
Dr. Henry Armitage strolling into the dining car waves aside the MatireD as he moves forward in order to take what is now his customary spot even though the train has yet to depart the station.
The Maître D frowned as he looked away from this American he had a feeling this gentleman was going to be, for this run of the Express, the trips most annoying passenger. Every trip along the rails brought with it the annoying passenger only usually they did not make their presence know until the train had left the station whereas this American, he had begun from the moment he boarded. He and his damn chien.
Armelle Ménard walks up to Joseph Salpêtrière just as he is opening his cigarette case, his breath escaping in puffs what gave the appearance that he had already lit one of his Gauloises even as he takes out a cigarette, and snaps shut the case.
She slaps him. You are late. Explain. {in French}
“I know, I know Armelle, {French} his hands held up in a dramatic defense, But mon cher, I was unavoidably detained.” {French}
Cards and drink no doubt. {French}
He smiles and lightly rubs his cheek growing red where she had slapped him, and then puts his cigarette between his lips and cupping his hand about his golden lighter, flicks the flame into life. I was delayed you see in that I thought I had a chance to obtain a copy of The Book of Whispers. {French}
The Book of Whispers? {French} She says her voice taunt, That old fraud? {French}
He exhales a long plume of smoke, Oui. But alas, as you say, it was the yet another copy of Turnbulls {French} he smiles, his blue eyes intense, seeking to soften hers,
They are all nothing but Turnbull copies. {French} She tells him angrily.
Dr. Henry Armitage takes out his pocket watch, opens it and begins to slowly wind it as he has checked the time.
It is cold and late. We must get on, now. {French} Armelle tells him, Our luggage is already aboard. {French}
He nods ascent.
On board the Orient Express Dominique Provoyeur now enters the dining car and briefly nods at the Maître D, who is just making his way through the lavish dining car, in hopes of escaping his annoying American passenger.
His face immediately brightens as he approaches her. Mademoiselle Provoyeur! It is such a pleasure to see you once again. Do you wish a table for one or will there be someone joining you? {French}
Very briefly as she turns to the fussy Maître D she takes note of a tall, woman, with a short, blonde bob rising now from a table.
Non, I am looking to join someone, M. Henri. She tells the Maître D as the tall woman lightly brushes past M. Henri, cutting a quick glance over M. Henris shoulder toward Dominique. They smile. Myrna Swan does not speak she only directs her eyes toward a table and Dominiques eyes follow.
She sees Edgar Wellington sitting alone. He is drinking some yellow liqueur, smoking a Gitanes, and looking very nervous as well he should be.
In the second class coach, with yet another check of her watch, Amelia Caldwell sighs as she stares out the window. No wonder the rail system here is declining, what is taking so long? Suspicion was already nagging at the back of her mind was it merely the delay of the train or were other forces at work?
On the platform, Joseph Salpêtrière watches as Armelle mounts the steel steps leading up into the train, Is he aboard?” {French} He asks with interest as she watches her long legs slightly revealed by the rising hem of her woolen skirt.
Armelle Ménard looks back over her shoulder, aware of his admiring eyes watching her, and she lifted her right brow, Oui.
Dominique Provoyeur places a sedate hand on the wrist of the Maître D, Ah, I see him now, thank you M. Henri. {French} And she begins to saunter through the dining car.
In the silence of the car, her heels sound loudly on the soft cushion of the rich carpet as she steps with determination toward Edgar Wellington whose back is turned to her.
Dr. Henry Armitage looks at Mademoiselle Provoyeur as she passes his table thinking what a handsome woman.
On board the train, pushing through the connecting door into the compartment coach, Armelle frowns as she looks back at Joseph, However, so are the others. {French}
He has brought them all out with his foolishness.” {French} he says as they pass compartment Number 6.
Yes last nights reading. I would say that card rather suits him I think. The Fool {French} Armelle says as she tips the conductor who had helped her aboard.
Suddenly, feeling a presence moving ever closer, Edgar Wellington looks up and turns to glance back over his shoulder to see Dominique Provoyeur standing behind him so close she could have easily slipped a knife into his back, he quickly thinks, Dominique . . . he flicks ashes nervously into the crystal astray on the table, I-I did not expect to — see you here.” {French}
She smiles for the other passengers in the car to see as she says in a hard, cold voice, “Oh really Edgar? You think we would allow you to make this trip unescortedespecially with what you have stolen?” {French}
Dr. Henry Armitage looking out the window at the luggage handlers moving about the platform is able to catch bits and pieces of the conversation, “would allow you” and “stolen” and he is instantly interested now in what they have to say.
“Stolen?” He takes a drag off his Gitanes,, “Whatever could you be talking about?” {French}
Dr. Henry Armitage raises an eyebrow.
The Wagon Lit conductor Pierre Michel, stepping out of a compartment Number 7, closing the door behind him, turns to see the two new arrivals and bows slightly, “Ah, Madam Ménard, Monsieur Salpêtrière, your baggage has been placed in your compartment, if there is anything you need please to allow me to be of service.” {French}
Dominique Provoyeur sits down and looks at Wellington, “Let us not be coy, we are well aware of what you took from Albert Alexis, you fool.” {French}
Merci. Armelle nods with a smile.
Dr. Henry Armitage turns to look at the table, his eyes riveted on the woman, this Provoyeur which does not seem to be familiar to him.
“Baron Ferenczy, did he sent you?” {French} Wellington asks, his hand trembling slightly.
Joseph hands Pierre Michel several folded Francs. The Wagon Lit conductor nods and gracefully steps back and away, leaving them alone.
Joseph closes the compartment door.
The dining car attendant steps up to the table and addresses Dominique Provoyeur with a warm greeting, “Would the madam care for a drink?” {French}
The M. Henri, the Maître D, passes Dr. Henry Armitage, who sitting alone, is muttering to himself: Ferenczy?
M. Henri lifts his eyes heavenward crazy Americans!
In her coach, Amelia Caldwell rises and exits in order to move toward the dining car.
“A glass of wine, merci.” {French} Dominique replies to the attendant and then turns an icy glare upon Edgar Wellington just as the attendant leaves, “And WE are all here, Edgar. {French}
Wellington awkwardly adjusts the knot of his tie, “All? Surely . . . not all of The Anti-Saints?” {French}
Dr. Henry Armitage suddenly looks up very surprised.
She smiles, “It shall be an interesting journey, Edgar. I wonder, do you think you will actually make it to the end?” {French}
Armelle Ménard, having inspected their compartment, doubled checked to assure herself that all of the luggage has been placed in the narrow space the sleeping partition allows, turns to Joseph Salpêtrière, and she withdraws the pin from her hat in order to remove it and toss it up on the bed, This could be a dangerous gambit, Joseph. {French}
But of course. He steps closer and hugs her, It is all dangerous and you know you love it. {French}
She looks at him, Shall we get a drink or two? I know I could use one after waiting for so long in the cold. {French}
Dr. Henry Armitage grips the edge of his table and gasps at having head what was obviously a threat by the lovely woman sitting with the far too nervous young gentleman who was obviously a drug addict.
Joseph Salpêtrière opens the door for Armelle, Yes, My dear and shall we see who else has decided to make this pleasant little trip with us. {French}
Amelia Caldwell steps inside the salon and dining car and looks about.
Theres the American the Professor from the American University, in New England, Armitage; and then, theres the far more interesting couple across from him. Edgar Wellington. Dominique Provoyeur. So this trip will be even more interesting than she had been lead to believe.
She smiles at the nosy Dr. Armitage as he turns to glance briefly at her.
He smiles back a mere formality as he is too engrossed in his attempts to eavesdrop on the Wellington and Provoyeur conversation. There is nothing clandestine about him.
The Matire D’ steps up to her, “Would Madam care for a table, we shall be leaving the station in a moment, it would be best to be seated.” {French}
Oh, yes, a table please. {French} Amelia tells him.
Perhaps HE will be in the dining car also. {French} Joseph suggests.
Armelle Ménard turns to give him a rather quizzical look, Joseph, why are you are so worried about this man? {French}
He turns to her, revealing an uncommon frown, “Not the man, mon cher, but what I suspect he has stolen that is my concern.” {French}
The attendant looks to Amelia and motions to a table, she smiles demurely and nods. She takes a seat one that affords her a view of the entire dining car.
“Dominique, I can assure youand . . . you can assure the Baronthat whatever you might have heard . . . I . . . I dont have the BOX. Nor . . . anything else, for that matter I would, I would ever betray the Anti-Saints.” {French}
Armelle Ménard opens the door to the dining car, Yes, I see. Well my dear, by all means let us keep a closer eye on him, and that of course, will most certainly be more easily done no doubt here, sitting over yet another drink. {French}
Unless he is with the needle. {French} Joseph adds.
With so few passengers within the dining car, Dr. Henry Armitage continues to find it easy to eavesdrop, and his eyes widen even more with surprise at hearing the term Anti-Saints and he almost speaks aloud but finds his self-control just as another couple enters the car.
The Maître D’ smiles, and then directs them to a table.
Leopold Peeters stands in one of the narrow passageways of one of the Second Class coaches as the Belgian tries to read a map by the light of the window. He looks back over his shoulder, only to be relieved that no one is paying any attention to him. Hes just another passenger checking the itinerary of his trip.
Armitage watches with interest as the couple passes, even as he is a bit resentful and vexed with a growing irritation that his view of the confrontation between the man and woman just across the way is blocked, even for a second.
Deftly observing those seated within the dining car Joseph Salpêtrière takes note that Dominique Provoyeur is already seated with Wellington, and from the look on Edgar Wellingtons face it is not going well for the Englishman. “Ah, the Baron, he makes his presence known,” {French} he whispers to Armelle.
Dominiques eyes are filled now with a malevolent delight as she very calmly opens her clutch purse and reaching inside, carefully removes two tarot cards. She places first, The Fool, down in front of Wellington. Then she trumps it by putting Death atop it. “I see your future Edgar.”
From his vantage point, Dr. Armitage tries mightily to see what the cards are, but he cannot make them out. He is more than certain they are Tarot cards.
Amelia Caldwell glances over the menu, looking up at the attendant beside her table, biting her lower lip somewhat at the pricing, Hmm, it is a bit expensive, isnt it.
Casually, Armelle Ménard turns to stare across the room with her heterochromatic eyes at the scene unfolding before her but most especially, the occurance at the table of Wellington and Provoyeur. She watches as Edgar Wellington suddenly knocks over his drink and then arises hurriedly from the table. He glares down at Dominique Provoyeur.
It is not anger but fear.
“Be assured, I am not without my own protections.”
Dominique Provoyeur smiles at him, “You mean those of the Silver Twilight? Edgar, you will need more than a few artifacts from them I can assure you.”
The train lurches as the engine begins to move and Wellington almost falls down the few steps that led up to their table as he moves away now from the Provoyeur.
His hands patting his jacket pockets as he is in need of a cigarette.
Amelia Caldwell looks up startled, Were moving. She announces to the attendant.
Oui, Madam. He nods, impatient that she has yet to find something cheap on the menu.
Wellington bumps into the table next to him, “Excuse me,” He tells the man seated there.
Oh. Quite understandable, Mr. . . . Dr. Armitage replies.
Thankful that he was along in the passageway, Leopold Peeters, having been preoccupied with his map had lost his balance with the jerk of the trains first movement and so had fallen down in a rather comedic fashion almost Chaplinesque.
He looks about glad no one was there to see him.
Wellington does not answer the mans question, instead he hurries down the length of the dining car , walking rather awkwardly against the motion of the train as he suddenly he stumbles to a halt. He looks at the couple seated before him: Armelle Ménard and Joseph Salpêtrière!
The woman in the white sable cape and her too handsome companion each look at him as if they were watching a man heading to his doom.
He drops his unlit cigarette and races out of the dining car.
Armelle Ménard cannot stop the sly smile that curls her lip as she reaches for her glass of red wine and takes a sip. I see Dominique has not lost her touch. {French}
Leopold Peeters, having arisen from his fall, straighten his jacket and cuffs, moves now down the passageway and through the connecting door to the dining car only to stumble into a very agitated Englishman as he exits. A very moist Englishman as the man is sweating rather badly.
Oh my! Excuse me sir. He says.
Blasted French, ever under foot. Wellington snaps angrily and stomps off.
Belgian, Monsieur. Leopold calls after him, Belgian.
As soon as the train makes it across the connecting points, the cars jarring for a moment and then leaning into a curve as it leaves the depot, it takes a few moments for it to become slightly steady again, and then Dr. Armitage stands up.
Pardon, Madame. Is this seat taken? he asks stepping over to the table from which the Englishman had just hastily departed.
Edgar Wellington hurries to his compartment, looks back to reassure himself he is not being followed, and quickly enters. The sound of his latch locking can be heard.
Two compartments down, Tony Peterson opens the door to his compartment and looks out certain he heard something, only, the passage is empty. He closes his door.
Dominique Provoyeur looks up at the American, “Oh, no, please do have a seat.”
The attendant arrives with her glass of wine and places it before her.
Leopold Peeters closes the coach door behind him and turns to look down the length of the lavish dining car, his keen eyes quickly taking in the tableau before him.
“You are American?” Dominique asks.
Thank you, Madame. Yes. I am. And the doctor admits as he takes a seat, I am Dr. Henry Armitage, professor emeritus, Miskatonic University.
I have heard of this University. She smiles, There are many ancient texts there, no? Some that have been gathered together and under lock and the key for many, many years, some of great value, I have heard.
Leopold Peeter smiles as he sees the woman from his compartment earlier, Ah! Miss Caldwell. Mind if I join you?
Amelia Caldwell looks up, On, not at all, she gestures to the seat have you seen the prices on the menu?
Leopold smiles and takes a seat, It is the Orient Express.
I like to think we have a decent collection, Miss . . . ? The doctor says nodding to the woman across from him, I’m sorry; I didn’t get your name.
A man just ran out of here at break neck speed. He nearly knocked me over. Leopold tells her, placing a napkin on his lap, What would cause a man to run on a moving train?
I do hope you’re ok. Amelia says, You must mean that nervous fellow who just left . . . well, I am not certain but it seemed a conversation had gone sour
“OK? Such an American word. I’m surprised to hear you say it Miss Caldwell. He smiles, How have you been?
“Provoyeur. Dominique Provoyeur, Monsieur Armitage. She says and lifts a hand for him, which he takes and shakes and she smiles, I am from Paris. I have apartments upon the Rue St. Jacques, perhaps you have been to Pairs?
Can’t say that I have; however I have dealt with a small number of them. Amelia replies, Americans, I mean.
Armelle Ménard sips her wine and watches the passengers across the aisle in her peripheral vision. What is this American up to? Is he involved with Dominique?
Dr. Henry Armitage raises an eyebrow at the address, Madame Provoyeur, your reputation precedes you. I believe you are well known . . . in certain circles.
Only a small number of them? Leopold asks, I met a large number of them in the war. Even before they decided to show up, in the legion, and then after words. Some of them were, he chuckles, “OK”.
Joseph Salpêtrière sits back and looks out the window as the train pulls out of the station, “Once this is behind us, once we have completed our quest, then we shall spend some time Armelle, you and I perhaps we shall go to Algeria.” {French}
I tend not to leave the house too often. Amelia tells him.
The house? Why would anyone want to confine such beauty as yourself to just the family house?
Dominique Provoyeur looks at the doctor in surprise, “Moi? Oh, but you must be mistaken, monsieur. What reputation could I haveone that travels all they way to America. I myself, I have never been.”
Amelia Caldwell laughs softly, The same reason I am making this journey.
The Carthaginian Temple? Oui. That is the next logical step. Baby steps my dear. Baby steps. {French} Armelle rather languidly tells Joseph as she puts down her glass and lifts her eyebrows at him.
The faintest wisp of a smile passes over the doctors lips. Ah, but there are those who have gladly traveled to Paris to meet you, Madame.
Dominique Provoyeur raises an eyebrow, and looks at this American doctor. She has had her share of troubles with American doctors that meddlesome Dr. Willett. He too was from this New England and so, perhaps this one, this Armtiage, he too is in league with them as he seems to be alluding to that youth, that Charles Dexter Ward who had caused such troubles, what with the gendarmes having come to question her in regards to endless American inquires. My collection of art and various artifacts is of course always on display for the true connoisseur, Monsieur Armitage.
Your health you say. Leopold asks in all seriousness, Is the fresh air not good for your health?
Joseph Salpêtrière smiles at the mention of the Carthaginian Temple as he looks out the window to watch the outskirts of the city passing them by.
Fresh air is rather hard to come by in my district, She tells him.
The door of the dining car suddenly opens and through the threshold, the sounds of the moving train accompanying him, a very strange gentleman, with long flowing white hair, enters. All eyes turn to watch his entrance for he is an albino. An albino dressed in formal evening wear. He rather casually strolls into the dining car long used to the stares his condition attracted. As the Maître D’ has momentarily left his station, the albino moves now past it and he heads over to an empty table; he nods to the Belgian in passing and then comes to a halt as he notices Armelle Ménard and Joseph Salpêtrière.
Armelle smiles and raises her glass slightly in acknowledgment.
Monsieur Zenith makes a slight flourish with his hand and bows slightly, his heels clicking as he responds to Armelle gesture of recognition, Fair Armelle, as beautiful as ever {German}
Dr. Armitage watching the albino in evening clothes swallows hard, thinking of Lavinia. He takes a napkin and wipes his face.
Joseph it is of course charming to see you once again. It has been some time.” {German}
Dr. Henry Armitage, visibly shaken rises, Excuse me, Madame Provoyeur. I need to return to my car for a time.
No fresh air? Ah yes. Like myself, you are of humble origins, yes? The thick smoke of factories and miasma of London. Leopold says softly to Amelia as he leans forward.
“Oh certainly Monsieur Armitage, perhaps we shall see one another again soon.” Dominique replies distractedly.
Yes. Perhaps. And it’s ‘doctor’. He tells her.
Humble is a word for it I suppose, Amelia nods, suppressing a smile.
Dr. Henry Armitage turns and leaves the dining car.
Dominique Provoyeur takes a sip of her drink, what next, that meddlesome Willett himself?
Herr Zenith. You are looking well. {German} Armelle nods.
You travel far? {German} Monsieur Zenith asks of them.
She languidly dangles her glass of wine, Bucharest, Monsieur.
Humble is nothing to be ashamed of. I was born in the fog of Ghent. Not quite as bad as London, but certainly no rural romp. I must say I got out of there as soon as I could. Much prefer the desert sands to the cobbles of the city. Leopold tells Amelia, his eyes stealing a glance at the menu still resting on the table.
Monsieur Zenith looks up to Joseph, “I assume we are both here for the same reason. If so, it would be prudent to not interfere with my plans.” {German}
I suppose so, it is fortunate you were able to escape. Amelia agrees, her attention drawn now to the white haired gentleman talking to Salpêtrière.
Miss Caldwell, you simply must see Tunis some day. It is so different from London, you will not even realize you are in a city.
I am aiming for Istanbul . . . is it nearby?
Joseph Salpêtrière looks down at the gentleman albino, his blue eyes looking into the mans pale pink ones, which seemed to take note of everything even as they remained so languid. “Herr Zenith, I too would caution you not to become entangled in things that do not concern you.” {German}
The train jerks as it rounds the points and now leaves the outskirts of the city.
Istanbul? No, Istanbul is far from Tunis. But Istanbul is so much bigger, and much more bustling.
So not as different from London as I thought . . . Amelia ponders the albino.
Monsieur Zenith’s lips curl now in a rather wicked smile, “You would be surprise Herr Salpêtrière of the things that concern me. Or what I take notice offor instance, it is but in passing that one cannot help take notice of the sheer number of the members of your little organization aboard this train. One can only ask, is this a concave of the Anti-Saints? Surely not . . . nothing so public . . . one would think. {German}
But it has so much more colour. And sun. Leopold tells her lost now in his own memories, The Sights, the smells. Only, he frowns, Just don’t buy any falafels from a man named Çelik-oğlu arif.
Dominique Provoyeur arises from her seat, careful to lift her glass of wine against the jostle of the train as she walks down the dining car. She stops as she grows near the Albino, “Herr Zenith.”
Amelia Caldwell turns her attention suddenly back to Leopold Peeters, Named what?
Monsieur Zenith turns with a slight bow, “Dominique, as charming as ever.” {German} He takes her hand and lightly kisses the top of it, “Are your traveling for business or pleasure and if business, whose might I ask? Poor Edgar Wellingtons? {German}
She smiles bemused, Monsieur, it is of course for business but that it is none of yours.” {German} She nods to Armelle; and then to Joseph. Au revior, she smiles back at the Albino and then exits the dinning car.
“Perhaps you have far too many interests, Herr Zenith, to be concerned with those of our little group.” {German} Joseph offers.
At their table, Leopold Peeters has begun to explain what a Falafel is. How it’s made. A brief history of it, before he begins a segue into the Pita.
Ah, Joseph, if that were but be the case but alas, your good Baron and his ever formidable Mehitable see fit to play their little games amongst the capitals of Europe . . . mere occult matters are not enough to occupy their time they have to dabble in politics . . . and that, that makes it my concern. For they are playing in a tinder box whose flames will soon ignite a catastrophe of monumental import. And it will not be good for business. {German} Monsieur Zenith says solemnly.
That depends upon ones business interests. {German} Armelle replies elegantly.
Monsieur Zeniths pink eyes narrow, What one summons, one can put down which is not necessarily so when in unleashing a madman. But, please, excuse me; I shall leave you to discuss the fate of the most unfortunate Mr. Wellington. {German}
Armelle watches the mysterious albino turn and walk away, The Germans are always so filled with so much gloom, dear Joseph. {French}
Salpêtrière takes out a cigarette and lights it, exhaling a plume of smoke upward towards the roof of the dining car, “Sadly, we will have to deal with them far more in the future, Armelle. {French}
She cuts him a look.
Its all merely business my dear. {French} He waves his hand dismissively.
But while there, you must certainly try the Turkish variety of Baklava. Mind you, I am more partial to Greek Baklava, but never tell a Turk that. In fact, never mention Greece if you can help it. Leopold continues.
Amelia Caldwell listens idly, praying the waiter doesnt show up.
The dining car attendant steps up to Armelle and Josephs table, “Monsieur, Madam, more Champaign?” {French}
Joseph nods with a smile, “Oui.”
The man departs and Salpêtrière reaches over and takes Armelle’s hand, “Be assured . . . there are times that I may be late, but I shall never let you down. {French}
Armelle looks at him and can barely suppress a laugh.
Cue Music End of Episode