Nothing pleased Angus so much as thus pitching camp in the midst of civilisation.  The scrubby newspaper packets of chestnuts, plums, figs and rusks were spread out:  Francis flew for salt to the man at the bar, and came back with a little paper of rock-salt:  the brown tea was dispensed in the silver-fitted glasses from the immortal luncheon-case:  and the picnic was in full swing.  Angus, being in the height of his happiness, now sat on the seat cross-legged, with his feet under him, in the authentic Buddha fashion, and on his face the queer rapt alert look, half a smile, also somewhat Buddhistic, holding his glass of brown tea in his hand.  He was as rapt and immobile as if he really were in a mystic state.  Yet it was only his delight in the tea-party.  The fellow-passenger peered at the tea, and said in broken French, was it good.  In equally fragmentary French Francis said very good, and offered the fat passenger some.  He, however, held up his hand in protest, as if to say not for any money would he swallow the hot-watery stuff.  And he pulled out a flask of wine.  But a handful of chestnuts he accepted.

The train-conductor, ticket-collector, and the heavy green soldier who protected them, swung open the door and stared attentively.  The fellow passenger addressed himself to these new-comers, and they all began to smile good-naturedly.  Then the fellow-passenger—­he was stout and fifty and had a brilliant striped rug always over his knees—­pointed out the Buddha-like position of Angus, and the three in-starers smiled again.  And so the fellow-passenger thought he must try too.  So he put aside his rug, and lifted his feet from the floor, and took his toes in his hands, and tried to bring his legs up and his feet under him.  But his knees were fat, his trousers in the direst extreme of peril, and he could no more manage it than if he had tried to swallow himself.  So he desisted suddenly, rather scared, whilst the three bunched and official heads in the doorway laughed and jested at him, showing their teeth and teasing him.  But on our gypsy party they turned their eyes with admiration.  They loved the novelty and the fun.  And on the thin, elegant Angus in his new London clothes, they looked really puzzled, as he sat there immobile, gleaming through his monocle like some Buddha going wicked, perched cross-legged and ecstatic on the red velvet seat.  They marvelled that the lower half of him could so double up, like a foot-rule.  So they stared till they had seen enough.  When they suddenly said “Buon ’appetito,” withdrew their heads and shoulders, slammed the door, and departed.

Then the train set off also—­and shortly after six arrived in Florence.  It was debated what should Aaron do in Florence.  The young men had engaged a room at Bertolini’s hotel, on the Lungarno.  Bertolini’s was not expensive—­but Aaron knew that his friends would not long endure hotel life.  However, he went along with the other two, trusting to find a cheaper place on the morrow.