“Well, well! how the van rattles; one can hardly hear oneself. What was I saying to you, Chaplain! Oh, aye!--do you know the great news of Paris to-day?” I started as if he were speaking to me. “No,” said the priest, who had at last heard him, “I have not had time to read the papers this morning: I shall see them this evening. When I am occupied in this way all day, I order my servant to keep the papers, and I read them on my return.” “Bah!” replied the other, “it is impossible that you have not heard what I mean. The news of Paris--the news of this morning.” It was now my turn to speak; and I said, “I know what you mean.” The Messenger looked at me. “You? really! and pray what is your opinion about it?” “You are inquisitive,” said I. “How so, sir?” replied he. “Every one should have a political opinion: I esteem you too much to suppose that you are without one. As to myself, I am quite in favour of re-establishing the National Guard. I was a serjeant in my company; and, faith! it was very agreeable to--” I interrupted him by saying, “I did not think this was the subject in question.” “What did you suppose, then? You professed to know the news.” “I spoke of something else with which Paris is also occupied to-day.” The fool did not understand, and his curiosity was awakened. “More news! Where the deuce could _you_ learn news? What is it, my dear sir? Do you know what it is, Chaplain? Do let me hear all about it, I beg. I like news, you see, to relate to the President; it amuses him.” He looked from one to the other, and obtained no answer. “Well,” said he, “what are you thinking of?” “I am thinking,” said I, “that I shall be past thinking, this evening.” “Oh, that’s it,” returned he. “Come, come, you are too sad. Mr. Castaing conversed on the day of his execution.” Then, after a pause, he continued: “I accompanied Mr. Papavoine on his last day. He wore his otter-skin cap, and smoked his cigar. As for the young men of La Rochelle, they only spoke among themselves, but still they spoke. As for you, I really think you are too pensive, young man.” “Young man?” I repeated. “I am older than you; every quarter of an hour which passes makes me a year older.” He turned round, looked at me some minutes with stupid astonishment, and then began to titter. “Come, you are joking; older than I am? why, I might be your grandfather.” “I have no wish to jest,” I answered gravely. He opened his snuff-box. “Here, my good sir, don’t be angry. Take a pinch of snuff, and don’t bear malice.” “Do not fear,” said I; “I shall not have long to bear it against you.” At this moment the snuff-box which he extended to me came against the grating which separated us. A jolt caused it to strike rather violently, and it fell, wide open, under the feet of the gendarme. “Curse the grating!” said the Messenger; then, turning to me, he added, “Now, am I not unlucky? I have lost all my snuff!” “I lose more than you,” said I.