began to observe the old fellow.

Did this little man concern me in any way? Not in the least, not in the
very slightest degree! Only that he held a newspaper in his hand, an old
number (with the advertisement sheet on the outside), in which something
or other seemed to be rolled up; my curiosity was aroused, and I could not
take my eyes away from this paper. The insane idea entered my head that it
might be a quite peculiar newspaper--unique of its kind. My curiosity
increased, and I began to move backwards and forwards on the seat. It
might contain deeds, dangerous documents stolen from some archive or
other; something floated before me about a secret treaty--a conspiracy.

The man sat quietly, and pondered. Why did he not carry his newspaper as
every other person carries a paper, with its name out? What species of
cunning lurked under that? He did not seem either to like letting his
package out of his hands, not for anything in the world; perhaps he did
not even dare trust it into his own pocket. I could stake my life there
was something at the bottom of that package--I considered a bit. Just the
fact of finding it so impossible to penetrate this mysterious affair
distracted me with curiosity. I searched my pockets for something to offer
the man in order to enter into conversation with him, took hold of my
shaving-book, but put it back again. Suddenly it entered my head to be
utterly audacious; I slapped my empty breast-pocket, and said:

"May I offer you a cigarette?"

"Thank you!" The man did not smoke; he had to give it up to spare his
eyes; he was nearly blind. Thank you very much all the same. Was it long
since his eyes got bad? In that case, perhaps, he could not read either,
not even a paper?