Some hard substance in the coat pocket of the man behind me caused me considerable annoyance, running ruthlessly into my back; and at last I ventured to lodge a complaint on the subject.
"Monsieur," I said, nudging the muscular owner of the brown velveteen coat with my elbow (in the only fashion possible in our circumscribed position); "Monsieur, you have something very hard in your pocket!"
The man, and the woman sitting beside him, turned to stare; but regarded me with stolid curiosity without replying.
"But, monsieur," I said, goaded to indignation by his want of sympathy, "excuse me if I ask you to remove it. Whatever it be, it is uncommonly hard, and it hurts me."
Again the stolid stare, and the astonished silence, broken at length by the woman's voice.
"Tiens!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, "c'est ton pistolet!"
"His pistol!" I said, with considerable animation. "Do you carry your pistol loaded, monsieur?"
The big Corsican looked at me with a quiet scorn.
"Mais oui," he replied, coolly; "certainement!" And he gave it a tug, shrugging his shoulders, that brought its muzzle into rather closer contact with me than before.
"I hope you won't shoot me," said I; whereat they all laughed.