They had passed Toulouse, and Carcassonne, with its medieval city, and according to Madeleine’s map she should soon be able to see the sea. She had been travelling since dawn, and had become almost part of the rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat of the train’s motion, bracing herself with her fellow passengers automatically when they swung corners around the mountains, shifting her buttocks uncomfortably from time to time on the hard, leather bench.She had changed trains twice, and walked platforms whenever stops permitted to breathe in the sun on sleepy platforms with troughs of flowers and empty benches. The further south they reached, the sleepier the platforms, and the less baggage and shouting and engine noise. Her fellow passengers also changed. The commuters and harassed mothers were replaced by peasant women in grey-black skirts and flowered aprons, their square, weathered, rather beautiful faces expressionless as they sat next to their husbands, mahogany-skinned farmers of lean build and bent legs.
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