began to fall rapidly, so that I was obliged to proceed at a slow
pace; and at length, as the wood seemed to thicken, I was forced to get
off, and walk beside my horse. I have often found myself in situations
of real peril, with far less anxiety than I now felt. My position seemed
at the time inexplicable and absurd. I suppose, thought I, that no man
was ever lost in the wood of Belleville; he must find his way out of it
sooner or later; and then there can be no great difficulty in returning
to Paris. This was about the extent of the comfort I could afford
myself; for, once back in the capital, I could not speculate on a single
step further.

I was at last so weary with the slow and cautious progression I was
condemned to, that I half determined to picket my horse to a tree, and
lie down to sleep till daylight. While I sought out a convenient spot
for my bivouac, a bright twinkling light, like a small star, caught my
eye. Twice it appeared, and vanished again, so that I was well assured
of its being real, and no phantom of my now over-excited brain. It
appeared to proceed from the very densest part of the wood, and whither,
so far as I could see, no path conducted. As I listened to catch any
sounds, I again caught sight of the faint star, which now seemed at
a short distance from the road where I stood. Fastening my horse to a
branch, I advanced directly through the brushwood for about a hundred
yards, when I came to a small open space, in which stood one of those
modest cottages, of rough timber, wherein, at certain seasons, the
gamekeepers take refuge. A low, square, log-hut, with a single door
and an unglazed window, comprised the whole edifice, being one of the
humblest, even of its humble kind, I had ever seen. Stealing cautiously
to the window, I peeped in. On a stone, in the middle of the earthern
floor, a small iron lamp stood, which threw a faint and fickle light
around. There was no furniture of any kind--nothing that bespoke the
place as inhabited; and it was only as I continued to gaze that I
detected the figure of a man, who seemed to be sleeping on a heap of
dried leaves in one corner of the hovel. I own that, with all my anxiety
to find a guide, I began to feel some scruples about obtruding on
the sleeper's privacy. He was evidently no _garde-chasse_, who are a
well-to-do sort of folk, being usually retired _sous-officiers_ of
the army. He might be a poacher, a robber, or perhaps a dash of both
together--