He placed his light upon the table, but at the moment of commencing he
found that he had only a quire of letter paper in the place. More the
pity, but he would make use of it by opening out each sheet to its full
extent. He dipped his pen in ink, and wrote at the head of the page, in
his best hand, "Recollections of a Chasseur d'Afrique."
Then he tried to frame the opening sentence. He remained with his head
on his hands and his eyes fixed on the white sheet spread out before
him. What should he say? He could no longer recall anything of what he
had been relating a little while back; not an anecdote, not a fact,
nothing.