poke the sorest trials of poverty, advancing towards me,
hat in hand.

"Will you deign me one word, Monsieur?" said he, in a voice whose tone,
although that of entreaty, was yet remote from the habitual accent of
one asking alms.

"You must mistake me," said I, desirous to pass on; "I am unknown to
you."

"True, sir; but it is as a stranger I take the liberty of addressing
you. I heard you say just now that you had not fixed on any place of
abode in Paris; now, if I might venture to entreat your preference for
this establishment, it would be too much honor for me, its poor master."

Here he placed in my hands a small card, inscribed with the words,
"Pension Bourgeoise, Rue de Mi-Careme, Boulevard Mont Parnasse, No. 46,"
at top; and beneath was a paragraph, setting forth the economical fact
that a man might eat, drink, and sleep for the sum of twelve francs a
week, enjoying the delights of "agreeable society, pleasant environs,
and all the advantages of a country residence."

It was with difficulty I could avoid a smile at the shivering figure
who ventured to present himself as an inducement to try the fare of his
house. Whether my eyes did wander from the card to his countenance, or
any other gesture of mine betrayed my thoughts, the old man seemed to
divine what was passing in my mind, and said,--

"Monsieur will not pronounce on the 'pension' from the humble guise of
its master. Let him but try it; and I promise that these poor rags, this
miserable figure, has no type within the walls."

There was a tone of deep dejection, mingled with a sense of conscious
pride, in which he said these few words, that at once decided me not to
grieve him by a refusal.

"You may count on me, then, Monsieur," said I. "My stay here is so far
uncertain, that it depends not altogether on myself; but for the present
I am your guest."

I took my purse from my pocket as I spoke, knowing the custom in these
humbler boarding-houses was to pay in advance; but the old man reddened
slightly, and motioned with his hand a refusal.

"Monsieur is a captain in the Guards," said he, proudly; "no more is
necessary."

"You mistake, friend, I am no longer so; I have left the army."

"Left it, _en retraite?_" said he, inquiringly.

"Not so; left it at my own free will and choice. And now, perhaps, I
had better tell you, that as I may not enjoy any considerable share of
goodwill from the police authorities here, my presence might be less
acc