On the following morning, at five o’clock, Eusebe awoke, and was somewhat surprised at not seeing the projecting beams on the ceiling, his gun hanging on the wall, and his three favorite ornaments on the mantel. A second, however, sufficed for him to recollect where he was. He leaped from his couch, and threw open the window.

“Behold Paris,” he exclaimed, “the city par excellence,—the crown of the world,—the city of a thousand palaces,—the——”

He paused. A profound silence reigned around him. The steps of a belated scavenger alone disturbed the quiet of the sleeping city. The eyes of the provincial were strained to see the thousand palaces: he saw little more than a throng of brick chimneys. The prospect was not enchanting. He closed the window, and proceeded to dress himself.

Five o’clock sounded. Eusebe made the sign of the cross, and waited to hear the three strokes of the angelus, to which he had been accustomed at that hour; but he listened in vain.

“This is the hour,” said he, “when my father rises to walk in the fields and commune with nature. Pierre curries the horses. Big Katy goes to the town to sell milk. Monsieur the CurÉ of Moustier prepares for mass. Here everybody is asleep. Is it progress that delays, or routine that advances?”

Not being able to resist the desire to see the city, the young man descended the stairs, found the street-door open, and went out.

This would be the moment to give a rapid description of the Boulevards of Paris at six o’clock in the morning, and to depict the surprises and misconceptions of the young provincial; but, unhappily, descriptions give too little information to those who read and too much trouble to those who write. Then, if they rest the reader, we must admit that they encourage the bad habit of going to sleep over a volume.

Eusebe Martin was neither astonished nor mistaken. He had dreamed, in his country home, of a city built of gold and paved with rubies and emeralds. He saw only a mass of stones and mud. He walked for some time without raising his eyes, and then, looking about him, without giving serious attention to any thing, he decided that the best thing he could do was to go and consult his Voltairian friend, the merchant, who would not fail to give him good advice.

Lansade received the young man with open arms, and detained him to breakfast. As soon as they were seated at the table, the porcelain-dealer began to question him earnestly.

“You see, my young friend, I did not wish, last evening, to be intrusive, or to aggravate your annoyances, by inquiring into the precise object that brought you to Paris. But I hope that now, since you seek counsel of me, you will tell me truly what are your intentions, and what is your aim.”

“I have already told you that I have come to visit the capital of the civilized world, to see life, study civilization, and, if possible, to distinguish the true from the false; and, finally, I have come here in obedience to my father’s wishes.”

“Verily,” responded Lansade, “I do not comprehend a word of what you tell me. To see life there is but one way, and that is, to live. To study civilization you had no need to come so far: it is everywhere. Do you believe Limoges is peopled by savages? They traffic there as well as elsewhere, and perhaps better. Civilization, you see, is commerce, and nothing else. Work is truth.”

Eusebe responded,—

“Then I will work.”