Here the train stopped at the Asnières station, and two privates of the Garde Impériale got into the carriage. The horizon cleared as if by magic. The grisettes suddenly forgot their differences, and began to chat quite amicably. The soldiers twirled their mustachios, listened, smiled, and essayed to join in the conversation. In a few minutes all was mirth and flirtation. Meanwhile Müller was casting admiring glances on the young girl in the corner, whilst the fat countrywoman, pursing up her mouth, and watching the grisettes and soldiers, looked the image of offended virtue. "Dame! Madame," she said, addressing herself to the old lady in the bonnet, "girls usen't to be so forward in the days when you and I were young!" To which the old lady in the bonnet, blandly smiling, replied:-- "Beautiful, for the time of year." "Eh? For the time of year? Dame! I don't see that the time of year has anything to do with it," exclaimed the fat countrywoman. Here the young girl in the corner, blushing and smiling very sweetly, interposed with--"Pardon, Madame--my aunt is somewhat deaf. Pray, excuse her." Whereupon the old lady, watching the motion of her niece's lips, added-- "Ah, yes--yes! I am a poor, deaf old woman--I don't understand what you say. Talk to my little Marie, here--she can answer you." "I, for one, desire nothing better than permission to talk to Mademoiselle," said Müller, gallantly. _"Mais, Monsieur_..." "Mademoiselle, with Madame her aunt, are going to the fête at Courbevoie?" "Yes, Monsieur." "The river is very pretty thereabouts, and the walks through the meadows are delightful." "Indeed, Monsieur!" "Mademoiselle does not know the place?" "No, Monsieur." "Ah, if I might only be permitted to act as guide! I know every foot of the ground about Courbevoie." Mademoiselle Marie blushed again, looked down, and made no reply. "I am a painter," continued Müller; "and I have sketched all the windings of the Seine from Neuilly to St. Germains. My friend here is English--he is a student of medicine, and speaks excellent French." "What is the gentleman saying, _mon enfant_?" asked the old lady, somewhat anxiously. "Monsieur says that the river is very pretty about Courbevoie, _ma tante_," replied Mademoiselle Marie, raising her voice. "Ah! ah! and what else?" "Monsieur is a painter." "A painter? Ah, dear me! it's an unhealthy occupation. My poor brother Pierre might have been alive to this day if he had taken to any other line of business! You must take great care of your lungs, young man. You look delicate." Müller laughed, shook his head, and declared at the top of his voice that he had never had a day's illness in his life. Here the pretty niece again interposed. "Ah, Monsieur," she said, "my aunt does not understand....My--my uncle Pierre was a house-painter."