The last whistle of the steam locomotive was drowned in the echoes deep within the rails, as Arthur stood on the carriage step, having yet to fully recover from the long journey.
He looked up, and although the platform at Brussels Railway Station was not very spacious, it appeared much more orderly compared to the half-finished sheds in the suburbs of Paris. The station shed, built with red bricks and iron trusses, had crisscrossing tracks gleaming like mercury under the sun. A tricolor flag of the Belgian Kingdom fluttered with the gentle breeze on the station's ridge.
Not far away, a stone pavilion bearing the sign "Brussels Telegraph Station" was nestled in a corner of the platform. Through its blinds, one could see two uniformed telegraph operators each operating a keypad; one end of the telegraph line stretched toward Mechelen in the north, while the other entered a thick wire through the wall, connecting to the hub station behind the City Hall.
