"Who would be shut up with ten fat people and a baby, when fresh air can be breathed, and tobacco smoked, for precisely the same fare?" asked he. "You don't mean to say that you came down to St. Germains in one of the dens below?" "Yes, we did," I replied; "but we had it to ourselves." "So much the worse. Man is a gregarious animal, and woman also--which proves Zimmerman to have been neither, and accounts for the brotherhood of _Les Chicards_. Would you like to see how that old gentleman looks when he is angry?" "Which? The one in the opposite corner?" "The same." "Well, that depends on circumstances. Why do you ask?" "Because I'll engage to satisfy your curiosity in less than ten minutes." "Oh, no, don't affront him," said I. "We shall only have a scene." "I won't affront him. I promise not to utter a syllable, either offensive or defensive." "Leave him alone, then, poor devil!" "Nonsense! If he chooses to be annoyed, that's his business, and not mine. Now, you'll see." And Müller, alert for mischief, stared fixedly at the old gentleman in the opposite corner for some minutes--then sighed--roused himself as if from a profound reverie--seized his portfolio--took out a pencil and sketch-book--mended the pencil with an elaborate show of fastidiousness and deliberation--stared again--drew a deep breath--turned somewhat aside, as if anxious to conceal his object, and began sketching rapidly. Now and then he paused; stole a furtive glance over his shoulder; bit his lip; rubbed out; corrected; glanced again; and then went on rapidly as before. In the meanwhile the old gentleman, who was somewhat red and irascible, began to get seriously uncomfortable. He frowned, fidgeted, coughed, buttoned and unbuttoned his coat, and jealously watched every proceeding of his tormentor. A general smile dawned upon the faces of the rest of the travellers. The priest over the way pinched his lips together, and looked down demurely. The two girls, next to the priest, tittered behind their handkerchiefs. The young man with the blue cravat sucked the top of his cane, and winked openly at his companions, both of whom were cracking nuts, and flinging the shells down the embankment. Presently Müller threw his head back, held the drawing off, still studiously keeping the back of it towards the rest of the passengers; looked at it with half-closed eyes; stole another exceedingly cautious glance at his victim; and then, affecting for the first time to find himself observed, made a vast show of pretending to sketch the country through which we were passing. The old gentleman could stand it no longer. "Monsieur," said he, angrily. "Monsieur, I will thank you not to take my portrait. I object to it. Monsieur." "Charming distance," said Müller, addressing himself to me "Wants interest, however, in the foreground. That's a picturesque tree yonder, is it not?" The old gentleman struck his umbrella sharply on the floor.