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.”