she shut herself in.

Almost immediately, at a signal from the conductor, the train resumed
its journey. The distance remaining to be traversed was short; half an
hour more, and the Lyons station, at Paris, was reached, where the bulk
of the passengers--all, indeed, but the occupants of the
sleeper--descended and passed through the barriers. The latter were
again desired to keep their places, while a posse of officials came and
mounted guard. Presently they were told to leave the car one by one, but
to take nothing with them. All their hand-bags, rugs, and belongings
were to remain in the berths, just as they lay. One by one they were
marched under escort to a large and bare waiting-room, which had, no
doubt, been prepared for their reception.

Here they took their seats on chairs placed at wide intervals apart, and
were peremptorily forbidden to hold any communication with each other,
by word or gesture. This order was enforced by a fierce-looking guard in
blue and red uniform, who stood facing them with his arms folded,
gnawing his moustache and frowning severely.

Last of all, the porter was brought in and treated like the passengers,
but more distinctly as a prisoner. He had a guard all to himself; and it
seemed as though he was the object of peculiar suspicion. It had no
great effect upon him, for, while the rest of the party were very
plainly sad, and a prey to lively apprehension, the porter sat dull and
unmoved, with the stolid, sluggish, unconcerned aspect of a man just
roused from sound sleep and relapsing into slumber, who takes little
notice of what is passing around.

Meanwhile, the sleeping-car, with its contents, especially the corpse