  The chamber which Madame Morin had assigned to Eusebe had been much used. It was in the fourth story. The furniture consisted of a mahogany bedstead, a chest of drawers fancifully ornamented, a bureau, a table, a causeuse, two arm-chairs, two ordinary chairs,—covered with damask which had been red, like the color of the curtains at the window,—a clock, and three pictures,—to wit, a steel engraving of Diana, a colored picture of a Calabrian brigand, and a lithograph, designated as the “Entrance to the Port of Buenos Ayres.” The finest room at La Capelette was the saloon, or parlor. The floor had never been waxed. Great curtains of white and yellow calico hung at the windows. A walnut table, some chairs covered with velvet, and an alabaster clock were the only ornaments of the room, where, moreover, no strangers were received. In making a comparison, the provincial found his new quarters splendid. “Behold,” thought he, “what they call comfortable! It is one of the benefits of civilization; but it produces effeminacy in the strongest man, and it is better to know how to bear up under adversity.” After this sage reflection, inspired by the counsels addressed by Mentor to Telemachus, Eusebe retired to bed. If his fatigue had been less, he would have very soon comprehended the difference between the mattress of his bed and the soft turf of the isle of Calypso. The youth closed his eyes and thought of his father, who by this time was sound asleep. He saw himself departing from La Capelette. All the little incidents of his journey recurred to his mind. He rejoiced that he had met with Lansade. He was glad that he had found Madame Morin such an excellent woman, and vowed an eternal remembrance of her kindness. Then he wondered why madame had written in her book that he was a hunter by profession. He thought, also, of the trouble experienced by the porcelain-merchant in closing his store, and of his not knowing, after a practice of thirty years, which shutter ought to go |
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