the
8:40 night
The theater every evening , women 's dresses rustling up against you , and continual excitement ; one goes almost mad with it . One sees nothing but dancers in skin-tights , actresses in very low dresses , round legs , fat shoulders , all nearly within reach of one 's hands , without daring or being able , to touch it , and one scarcely tastes some inferior dish , once or twice . And one leaves it , one 's heart still all in a flutter , and one 's mind still exhilarated by a sort of longing for kisses which tickles one 's lips . '' * * * * * Morin was in that state when he took his ticket for La Rochelle by the 8:40 night express . And he was walking up and down the waiting-room at the station , when he stopped suddenly in front of a young lady who was kissing an old one . She had her veil up , and Morin murmured with delight : `` By Jove , what a pretty woman ! '' When she had said `` Good-bye '' to the old lady , she went into the waiting-room , and Morin followed her ; then she went onto the platform , and Morin still followed her ; then she got into an empty carriage , and he again followed her .