med so completely at the end of all things; and
feeling, by comparison, that there was a deeper depth of suffering than
our own, we revived. His name was not Misery, but Andre.

Monsieur accompanied us to the door and wished us Good-night. Madame had
disappeared and was nowhere to be found; the lights were out in her
bureau. It looked very much as if she, too, had gone to bed and
forgotten us. "Cette chere dame is tired," said the sympathetic
landlord. "We really have no rest day or night at the time of the fair.
But you may depend upon it she has made it all right with her bouchere."

So we departed in faith. It was impossible to be angry with Monsieur,
though we felt neglected. He was so unlike the ordinary run of landlords
that one could only repose confidence in him and overlook small
inattentions. He had a way of throwing himself into your interests, and
making them his own for the time being. But I fear that his memory was
very short.

We departed with thanksgiving, and followed our guide. I cannot say that
we trod in his footsteps, for, too far gone to lift his feet bravely, he
merely shuffled along the pavement. With one hand he supported the
luggage on his shoulder; with the other he carried a candle, ostensibly
to light our pathway, in reality only complicating matters and the
darkness. As we turned round by the hotel, the clocks struck the
witching hour. H.C. shivered and looked about for ghosts. It was really
a very ghostly scene and atmosphere. In spite of the occasion of the
fair, the town was in repose. The theatre was long over; the extra
entertainment on account of the fair had been a mere invention of the
imaginative waiter's; people had very properly gone home to bed, and
lights were out. No noisy groups were abroad, making night hideous with
untimely revelry.

We formed a strange procession. Our little guide slipped and shuffled,
hardly able to put one foot before the other. He wore house-slippers of
list or wool, and made scarcely any noise as he went along. Every now
and then he groaned in the agonies of toothache; and each time H.C.
shivered and looked back for the ghost. It was excusable, for the candle
threw weird shadows around, which flitted about like phantoms playing at
hide-and-seek. The night was so calm that the flame scarcely flickered.

In spite of the darkness, we could see how picturesque was the old town,
and we longed for daylight. Against the dark background of sky the yet
dar