e that all was safe; and the darkness
was such that we almost lost our way, though we were both born in the
town and had known every turning from our boyhood. It cannot be denied
that Semur is very badly lighted. We retain still the lanterns slung by
cords across the streets which once were general in France, but which,
in most places, have been superseded by the modern institution of gas.
Gladly would I have distinguished my term of office by bringing gas to
Semur. But the expense would have been great, and there were a hundred
objections. In summer generally, the lanterns were of little consequence
because of the brightness of the sky; but to see them now, twinkling
dimly here and there, making us conscious how dark it was, was strange
indeed. It was in the interests of order that we took our round, with a
fear, in my mind at least, of I knew not what. M. l'Adjoint said
nothing, but no doubt he thought as I did.

While we were thus patrolling the city with a special eye to the
prevention of all seditious assemblages, such as are too apt to take
advantage of any circumstances that may disturb the ordinary life of a
city, or throw discredit on its magistrates, we were accosted by Paul
Lecamus, a man whom I have always considered as something of a
visionary, though his conduct is irreproachable, and his life
honourable and industrious. He entertains religious convictions of a
curious kind; but, as the man is quite free from revolutionary
sentiments, I have never considered it to be my duty to interfere with
him, or to investigate his creed. Indeed, he has been treated generally
in Semur as a dreamer of dreams--one who holds a great many
impracticable and foolish opinions--though the respect which I always
exact for those whose lives are respectable and worthy has been a
protection to hire. He was, I think, aware that he owed something to my
good offices, and it was to me accordingly that he addressed himself.

'Good evening, M. le Maire,' he said; 'you are groping about, like
myself, in this strange night.'

'Good evening M. Paul,' I replied. 'It is, indeed, a strange night. It
indicates, I fear, that a storm is coming.'

M. Paul shook his head. There is a solemnity about even his ordinary
appearance. He has a long face, pale, and adorned with a heavy, drooping
moustache, which adds much to the solemn impression made by his
countenance. He looked at me with great gravity as he stood in the
shadow of the lamp, and slo