Silbermann went into the corridor to see if there was a vending machine with chocolate. He didn’t find one, but on his way to look and also on his way back, he passed a young boy with dark hair, about fourteen years old, who Silbermann thought had been watching him very cautiously. Each time the boy had squeezed so close to the wall it seemed he might be afraid of something. Silbermann went back into the compartment and tried to resume the conversation.

“Do you have a good position?” he asked the girl, just to keep her talking to him.

She shook her head. “There’s plenty of work,” she said, “but it doesn’t pay well.”

The old worker looked up, as though he wanted to say something, but contented himself with spitting on the floor.

The stout man wrinkled his forehead.

“We always have to complain, don’t we!” he said, looking at Silbermann for approval.

“Who’s complaining here?” the girl asked aggressively.

What a resolute young woman, Silbermann was happy to observe.

“You’d be well advised to watch your words,” the man said, sounding serious.

“Now, now,” said Silbermann soothingly. “What’s all this about?” He smiled at the girl. “You don’t have to scowl like that. It doesn’t suit you.”

Then he turned to the man. “Listening in on someone else’s conversation makes one prone to mishear things, and then it’s easy to create ill will.”

The man’s face turned red. He probably realized he was dealing with a man from a higher social status than his own, and even if he wasn’t sure Silbermann really did have something important to say, he decided not to argue, just to be on the safe side.

“I simply can’t stand hearing phrases like ‘So much work, so little pay’ anymore,” he explained, now sounding noticeably milder.

“Those aren’t just phrases,” said the old worker. “That’s how it is.”

“Are you implying that things were better before?” the man asked tensely.

“I’m not implying anything,” said the worker. “Besides, I’m in the party.” He cast a disparaging glance at the man.

“I’m in the party as well,” the latter hastened to explain.

“Since when, then?” the worker asked, snidely.

“That’s nobody’s business!” said the man, refusing to answer.

“But you’re quick to butt into conversations that aren’t your business,” the young girl declared.

“If there’s complaining going on, then yes.”

“Don’t sound so high and mighty,” growled the old worker. “You act as though you’re pushing the whole cart by yourself.”

The man looked at him sternly. “You say you’re in the party?” he asked.

“And for longer than you!”

Both men were silent. Silbermann noted a thankful glance from the girl. Then the two party members continued their argument.

“So how can you say,” the stout man asked, “that one shouldn’t concern oneself with politics? That’s out and out defeatism!”

“I never said anything of the sort. Who knows what you might have heard? The gentleman is absolutely right: if you listen in on other people’s conversations you’re bound to mishear things. I have no idea what makes you think that…”