me, I was not alone with it. Sometimes I would pace them the
whole night, sharing them with the other outcasts while the city slept.

Occasionally, during these nightly wanderings would come to me moments
of exaltation when fear fell from me and my blood would leap with joy at
prospect of the fierce struggle opening out before me. Then it was the
ghostly city sighing round me that seemed dead, I the only living thing
real among a world of shadows. In long, echoing streets I would laugh
and shout. Misunderstanding policemen would turn their bull's-eyes on
me, gruffly give me practical advice: they knew not who I was! I stood
the centre of a vast galanty-show: the phantom houses came and went;
from some there shone bright lights; the doors were open, and little
figures flitted in and out, the tiny coaches glided to and fro, manikins
grotesque but pitiful crept across the star-lit curtain.

Then the mood would change. The city, grim and vast, stretched round
me endless. I crawled, a mere atom, within its folds, helpless,
insignificant, absurd. The houseless forms that shared my vigil were
my fellows. What were we? Animalcule upon its bosom, that it saw not,
heeded not. For company I would mingle with them: ragged men, frowsy
women, ageless youths, gathered round the red glow of some coffee stall.

Rarely would we speak to one another. More like animals we browsed
there, sipping the halfpenny cup of hot water coloured with coffee
grounds (at least it was warm), munching the moist slab of coarse cake;
looking with dull, indifferent eyes each upon the wretchedness of
the others. Perhaps some two would whisper to each other in listless,
monotonous tone, broken here and there by a short, mirthless laugh; some
shivering creature, not yet case-hardened to despair, seek, perhaps,
the relief of curses that none heeded. Later, a faint chill breeze would
shake the shadows loose, a thin, wan light streak the dark air with
shade, and silently, stealthily, we would fade away and disappear.

CHAPTER II.

PAUL, ESCAPING FROM HIS SOLITUDE, FALLS INTO STRANGE COMPANY. AND
BECOMES CAPTIVE TO ONE OF HAUGHTY MIEN.

All things pass, even the self-inflicted sufferings of shy young men,
condemned by temperament to solitude. Came the winter evenings, I took
to work: in it one may drown much sorrow for oneself. With its handful
of fire, its two candles lighted, my "apartment" was more inviting.
I bought myself paper, pens and ink. Great o