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.
As he tried to pick up his snuff, he muttered between his teeth, “More than I! that’s very easily said. No more snuff until I reach Paris! It’s terrible.”
The Chaplain then addressed him with some words of consolation; and I know not if I were pre-occupied, but it seemed to me to be part of the exhortation of which the commencement had been addressed to me.