1.1

It was five o’clock on a winter’s morning in Syria. Alongside the platform at Aleppo stood the train grandly designated in railway guides as the Taurus Express. It consisted of a kitchen and dining-car, a sleeping-car and two local coaches.	सिरिया-देशे शैत्यकाले प्रातः पञ्चवादनं जातम्। आलेपो-स्थानके मञ्चे लोहग-मार्गदर्शन-पुस्तकेषु व्युल्लेखितस् तौरुस्-आशुगः अतिष्ठत्। पाकशाला, भोजन-यानं, शयन-यानं पथिक-यान-द्वयं च अन्तर्गताः।
By the step leading up into the sleeping-car stood a young French lieutenant, resplendent in uniform conversing, with a small man muffled up to the ears of whom nothing was visible but a pink-tipped nose and the two points of an upward-curled moustache.	शयन-यानस्य सोपाने भास्वत् परिधानं धारयन् कश्चन फ्रान्सीयः युवाधिकारी स्थित्वा केनचित् लघुना नरेण सह सम्भाषमाणः आसीत्। सः नरः गलपट्टं कर्णपर्यन्तं अधारयत् यस्य केवलं पाटलवर्णितः नासिकाग्रः, कुञ्चितौ श्मश्रुबिन्दू च दृश्यमाणाः आसन्।
It was freezingly cold, and this job of seeing off a distinguished stranger was not one to be envied, but Lieutenant Dubosc performed his part manfully. Graceful phrases fell from his lips in polished French. Not that he knew what it was all about. There had been rumours, of course, as there always were in such cases. The General’s—his General’s—temper had grown worse and worse. And then there had come this Belgian stranger—all the way from England, it seemed. There had been a week—a week of curious tensity.	अतिशैत्यम् आसीत् एवं च कञ्चन विख्यातं सज्जनं स्थानके प्रापयितुम् इदं कार्यम् अनीप्सितम्। किन्तु लेफ़्टेनेण्ट्-डूबोस्कः निष्ठतया कर्तव्यम् अपालयत्। उत्कृष्टम् अनुत्तमं वचनम् अब्रवीत् फ़्रान्सीय-भाषायां सः। किमर्थमिति न अजानात्। ईदृशेषु अवसरेषु यथापेक्षितम् किम्वदन्त्यः आसन्। तस्य श्रेष्ठाधिकारी सेनापतिः इतोऽपि शीघ्रकोपी अभवत्। अधुना तु कश्चन बेल्जियीयः अपरिचितः आङ्ग्लदेशतः आगतः। कुतूहलजनकः सम्मर्दः सप्ताहः गतः।