though it were contaminated and
plague-stricken.

CHAPTER XLVII. THE VILLAGE OP SCHWARTZ-ACH

I was destitute enough when I quitted the Temple, a few days back; but
my condition now was sadder still, for, in addition to my poverty and
friendlessness, I had imbibed a degree of distrust and suspicion that
made me shun my fellow-men, and actually shrink from the contact of a
stranger. The commonest show of courtesy, the most ordinary exercise
of politeness, struck me as the secret wiles of that police whose
machinations, I fancied, were still spread around me. I had conceived
a most intense hatred of civilisation, or, at least, of what I rashly
supposed to be the inherent vices of civilised life. I longed for what
I deemed must be the glorious independence of a savage. If I could but
discover this Paradise beyond seas, of which the marquise raved so much;
if I only could find out that glorious land which neither knew secret
intrigues nor conspiracies, I should leave France for ever, taking any
condition, or braving any mischances fate might have in store for me.

There was something peculiarly offensive in the treatment I had
met with. Imprisoned on suspicion, I was liberated without any
amende--neither punished like a guilty man, nor absolved as an innocent
one. I was sent out upon the world as though the State would not own
nor acknowledge me--a dangerous practice, as I often thought, if
only adopted on a large scale. It was some days before I could summon
resolution to ascertain exactly my position. At last I did muster up
courage, and, under pretence of wishing to address a letter to myself, I
applied at the Ministry of War for the address of Lieutenant Tiernay,
of the 9th Hussars. I was one of a large crowd similarly engaged, some
inquiring for sons that had fallen in battle, or husbands or fathers in
faraway countries. The office was only open each morning for two hours,
and consequently, as the expiration of the time drew nigh, the eagerness
of the inquirers became far greater, and the contrast with the cold
apathy of the clerks the more strongly marked. I had given way to many,
who were weaker than myself, and less able to buffet with the crowd
about them; and at last, when, wearied by waiting, I was drawing nigh
the table, my attention was struck by an old, a very old man, who,
with a beard white as snow, and long moustaches of the same colour, was
making great efforts to gain the front rank. I stretched o