with a thistle in its mouth!

A simultaneous explosion of mirth followed. Even the priest laughed till
the tears ran down his cheeks, and Dalrymple, heavy-hearted as he was,
could not help joining in the general shout. As for the old gentleman,
the victim of this elaborate practical joke, he glared at us all round,
swore that it was a premeditated insult from beginning to end, and,
swelling with suppressed rage, flung himself back into his corner, and
looked resolutely in the opposite direction.

By this time we were half-way to Paris, and the student, satisfied with
his success, packed up his folio, brought out a great meerschaum with a
snaky tube, and smoked like a factory-chimney.

When we alighted, it was nearly five o'clock.

"What shall we do next?" said Dalrymple, pulling drearily at his
moustache. "I am so deuced dull to-day that I am ashamed to ask anybody
to do me the charity to dine with me--especially a _bon garçon_ like
Herr Müller."

"Don't be ashamed," said the student, laughingly, "I would dine with
Pluto himself, if the dishes were good and my appetite as sharp
as to-day."

"_Allons_, then! Where shall we go; to the _Trois Frères_, or the
_Moulin Rouge_, or the _Maison Dorée_?"

"The _Trois Frères_" said Müller, with the air of one who deliberates on
the fate of nations, "has the disadvantage of being situated in the