ustom House nor from
the _coup d'etat_, neither from men nor from dogs.

He gave Henry the second fifty francs, and continued his journey on
foot, trusting somewhat to chance.

It was not until towards evening that he reached a railway station. He
got into a train, and at nightfall he arrived at the Southern Railway
Station at Brussels.

He had left Paris on the preceding morning, had not slept an hour, had
been walking all night, and had eaten nothing. On searching in his
pocket he missed his pocket book, but found a crust of bread. He was
more delighted at the discovery of the crust than grieved at the loss of
his pocket-book. He carried his money in a waistband; the pocket-book,
which had probably disappeared in the pond, contained his letters, and
amongst others an exceedingly useful letter of introduction from his
friend M. Ernest Koechlin, to the Representatives Guilgot and Carlos
Forel, who at that moment were refugees at Brussels, and lodged at the
Hotel de Brabant.

On leaving the railway station he threw himself into a cab, and said to
the coachman,--

"Hotel de Brabant."

He heard a voice repeat, "Hotel de Brabant." He put out his head and saw
a man writing something in a notebook with a pencil by the light of a
street-lamp.

It was probably some police agent.

Without a passport, without letters, without papers, he was afraid of
being arrested in the night, and he was longing for a good sleep. A good
bed to-night, he thought, and to-morrow the Deluge! At the Hotel de
Brabant he paid the coachman, but did not go into the hotel. Moreover,
he would have asked in vain for the Representatives Forel and Guilgot;
both were there under false names.

He took to wandering about the streets. It was eleven o'clock at night,
and for a long time he had begun to feel utterly worn out.

At length he saw a lighted lamp with the inscription "Hotel de la
Monnaie."

He walked in.

The landlord came up, and looked at him somewhat askance.

He then thought of looking at himself.

His unshaven beard, his disordered hair, his cap soiled with mud, his
blood-stained hands, his clothes in rags, he looked horrible.

He took a double louis out of his waistband, and put it on the table of
the parlor, which he had entered and said to the landlord,--

"In truth, sir, I am not a thief, I am a proscript; money is now my only
passport. I have just come from Paris, I wish to eat first and sleep
afterwards."

The landlor