eturn home, when
his evil star led him to sup at his inn with a countryman, a former
schoolmate, who was now a sailor on board a coal-barge. Of course,
countrymen when they meet must drink. They did drink; and, as the sailor
very soon scented the twelve hundred francs which remained in Trumence's
pockets, he swore that he was going to have a jolly time, and would
not return on board his barge as long as there remained a cent in his
friend's pocket. So it happened, that, after a fortnight's carouse,
the sailor was arrested and put in jail; and Trumence was compelled to
borrow five francs from the stage-driver to enable him to get home.

This fortnight was decisive for his life. During these days he had lost
all taste for work, and acquired a real passion for taverns where they
played with greasy cards. After his return he tried to continue this
jolly life; and, to do so, he made more debts. He sold, piece after
piece, all he possessed that was salable, down to his mattress and his
tools. This was not the way to repay the thirty-five hundred francs
which he owed. When pay-day came, the creditor, seeing that his security
was diminishing every day, lost no time. Before Trumence was well aware
of what was going on, an execution was in the house; his lands were
sold; and one fine day he found himself in the street, possessing
literally nothing in the world but the wretched clothes on his back.

He might easily have found employment; for he was a good workman, and
people were fond of him in spite of all. But he was even more afraid
of work than he was fond of drink. Whenever want pressed too hard, he
worked a few days; but, as soon as he had earned ten francs, good-by!
Off he went, lounging by the road-side, talking with the wagoners, or
loafing about the villages, and watching for one of those kind topers,
who, rather than drink alone, invite the first-comer. Trumence
boasted of being well known all along the coast, and even far into the
department. And what was most surprising was that people did not blame
him much for his idleness. Good housewives in the country would, it is
true, greet him with a "Well, what do you want here, good-for-nothing?"
But they would rarely refuse him a bowl of soup or a glass of white
wine. His unchanging good-humor, and his obliging disposition, explained
this forbearance. This man, who would refuse a well-paid job, was ever
ready to lend a hand for nothing. And he was handy at every thing, by