eason for hunting, and
that part of the country well suited for the diversion.

He had been on a party of pleasure a considerable way on this road
before, so thought he had no occasion for a guide, and that he should
easily be directed to the house; but it so happened that being got
about twenty miles from Paris he missed his route, and took one the
direct contrary, and which at last brought him to the entrance of a
very thick wood:--there was not the least appearance of any human
creature, nor the habitation of one, and he was beginning to consult
with his servant whether to go back, or proceed till they should
arrive at some town or village for refreshment, when all at once there
fell the most terrible shower of hail and rain, accompanied with
thunder, that ever was heard;--this determined them to go into the
wood for shelter:--the storm continued till night, and it was then so
dark, that they could distinguish nothing:--they wandered, however,
leading their horses in their hands, for it was impossible to ride,
hoping to find some path, by which they might extricate themselves out
of that horrid labyrinth.

Some hours were passed in this perplexed situation, and Natura
expected no better than to remain there till morning, when he heard a
voice at a little distance, cry, 'Who goes there?' Never had any music
been half so pleasing to the ears of Natura. 'Friends,' replied he,
'and travellers, that have lost their way.' On this the person who had
spoke, drew nearer, and asked whither they were bent. Natura told him
to the villa of the baron d' Eyrac. 'The baron d' Eyrac,' said the
other, 'he lives twelve miles on the other side the wood, and that is
five miles over.'--He then asked if there were no town near, to which
he could direct them.--'No,' replied the other, 'but there is a little
village where is one inn, and that is above half a league off:--you
will never find your way to it; but if you will pay me, I will guide
you.' Natura wished no more, and having agreed with him for his hire,
followed where he led.

Nothing that was ever called an inn, had so much the shew of
wretchedness; nor could it be expected otherwise, for being far from
any great road, it was frequented only by shepherds, and others the
meanest sort of peasants, who worked in the adjacent grounds, or
tended the cattle.

In this miserable place was Natura obliged to take up his lodging:--he
lay down, indeed, on the ragged dirty mattress, but dur