1 "Oh' I don't think you could ever make a beauty out of me," she said sincerely. "But I shall enjoy having some really good clothes. I'm afraid I'm talking about myself an awful lot." Mrs Harrison looked at her shrewdly. "It must be quite a novel experience for you," she said drily. 2 "'Soupir d'automne; that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle.'" Autumn, yes, it was autumn for her. She who had never known spring or summer, and would never know them now. Something she had lost never could be given to her again. These years of servitude in St Mary Mead - and all the while life passing by. "I am an idiot," said Katherine. "I am an idiot. What do I want? Why, I was more contented a month ago than I am now." 3 Ruth Kettering looked down at her hands; they were shaking violently. "But I can't draw back now." "Why not?" "I - it is all arranged, and it would break his heart." "Don't you believe it," said Katherine robustly, "hearts are pretty tough." 4 "It is my fancy, perhaps," said the little man, as he dexterously polished one of the forks, "but I think that you have a yearning in you for interesting happenings. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, all through my life I have observed one thing - 'All one wants one gets!' Who knows?" His face screwed itself up comically. "You may get more than you bargain for." 5 "I saw it the night he came here," she said thoughtfully. "The way he looked at you; and you are not his usual type - just the opposite. Well, I suppose it is like religion - you get it at a certain age." 6 He looked at Lenox a little sadly. "You are young, Mademoiselle, but there are three things that cannot be hurried - le bon Dieu, Nature, and old people." 7 "I was wrong about that young man of yours. A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love he can't help looking like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you he looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine." 8 "She might have trusted me," said Lenox, with a shade of bitterness. "Yes," said Poirot gravely, "she might have trusted you. But Mademoiselle Katherine has spent a great deal of her life listening, and those who have listened do not find it easy to talk; they keep their sorrows and joys to themselves and tell no one." 9 "That is that damned Blue Train," said Lenox. "Trains are relentless things, aren't they, Monsieur Poirot? People are murdered and die, but they go on just the same. I am talking nonsense, but you know what I mean." "Yes, yes, I know. Life is like a train, Mademoiselle. It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so." "Why?" "Because the train gets to its journey's end at last, and there is a proverb about that in your language, Mademoiselle." "'Journeys end in lovers meeting.'" Lenox laughed. "That is not going to be true for me." "Yes - yes, it is true. You are young, younger than you yourself know. Trust the train, Mademoiselle, for it is le bon Dieu who drives it." The whistle of the engine came again. "Trust the train, Mademoiselle," murmured Poirot again. "And trust Hercule Poirot. He knows."