Night had come on, which, however, did not disturb Eusebe. He had
heard that in Paris night was turned into day,--that Paris was more
brilliant at midnight than at noon,--and many other absurdities.
While observing the rapid illumination of myriads of gas-lamps, he
had begun to think that his provincial anticipations were about
to be realized. But when the poor youth, who had spent two hours
in hunting a restaurant, wished to find a shelter, he perceived
that gaslight fell far short of sunshine. Notwithstanding all the
attention he devoted to the multitude of signs, he could nowhere
discover the word _auberge_.
His anxiety was great. He noticed a clock, the hands of which
marked the hour of half-past ten. He had never before remained out
of bed so late.
He had a strong inclination to ask the pedestrians who passed him
where he could find a bed; but his mishaps of the morning were
vividly remembered. At length he realized that there was no other
course to take, and decided to question the first female who passed
him.
“A woman,” thought Eusebe, “will be milder and more accessible than
a man.” And as, at this moment, a lady emerged from a neighboring
mansion, the provincial ventured to say,--
“Permit me, madame, as a stranger who is very much embarrassed, to
ask you for some information.”
The lady passed on without condescending to make any reply.
“I have an awkward address,” said the provincial. “That person is
certainly a great and haughty lady. I had better speak to this one,
who has the air of a working-woman.”
“Madame,” said Eusebe to a female who brushed past him, “a little
information, I pray you.”
“This is a well-chosen hour for asking questions, truly. What do
you want?”
“Inform me, if you please, of a place where I can sleep to-night.”
“Pass on your way, you insolent scamp! For whom do you take me, you
low-bred fellow? Cease to disturb me, or I will have you arrested.”
This cut was too much for the poor Limousin. He felt as if his legs
would give way under him. He sank upon a stone step, and, in a
despairing tone, asked himself what would become of him.
He was endowed with a strong, healthy constitution. No ordinary
peril could frighten him; but this solitude in the midst of a crowd
gave him strange sensations: he felt his heart swell, while the
tears started.
“Are you sick, monsieur?” inquired a man who was engaged in closing
a store.
“No,” responded Eusebe, “but I am not much better off.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Do you want money?”
“No.”
“Then what is the matter?”
Eusebe arose, revived by the sympathetic curiosity of the man, and
replied,--
“I arrived in Paris, this morning, from my native province, and
already a coachman has insulted me, a soldier has mocked me, an
old man has deceived me, a commissary of police has desired to
arrest me, as he thought me crazy, because I had saved a man’s
life, a waiter in a restaurant has called me _green_, a great
lady has refused to answer me, and a working-woman has heaped
epithets upon me because I asked her to direct me to an _auberge_.
Really, I might inquire whether I am crazy, or whether, instead of
coming into a civilized region, I have not fallen among a horde of
savages.”
The merchant--for such the man evidently was--rejoined,--
“There is, perhaps, some truth in the latter supposition. Come in
and take a seat for a moment, and I will aid you.”
“Generous man! Blessings on you! God, I am sure, will take account
of your good action; and if ever you or your son should visit
distant shores, he will prepare for you shelter in a hospitable
tent.”