uld I reveal
if I might!--what injuries, what wrong, what cruel misconceptions of
my nature and disposition, what mistaken notions of my character and
intentions! What pretentious stupidity, too, have I seen preferred
before me,--creatures with, mayhap, a glossier coat or a more silky
forelock--" "Ah, Blondel, take courage,--men are just as ungenerous,
just as erring!" "Not that I have not had my triumphs, too," he seemed
to say, as, cocking his ears, and ambling with a more elevated toss
of the head, his tail would describe an arch like a waterfall; "no
salmon-colored silk stockings danced sarabands on _my_ back; I was
always ridden in the Haute Ecole by Monsieur l'Etrier himself, the
stately gentleman in jackboots and long-waisted dress-coat, whose five
minutes no persuasive bravos could ever prolong." I thought--nay, I was
certain at times--that I could read in his thoughtful face the painful
sorrows of one who had outlived popular favor, and who had survived to
see himself supplanted and dethroned.

There are no two destinies which chime in so well together as that of
him who is beaten down by sheer distrust of himself, and that of the
man who has seen better days. Although the one be just entering on life,
while the other is going out of it, if they meet on the threshold,
they stop to form a friendship. Now, though Blondel was not a man, he
supplied to my friendlessness the place of one.

The sun was near its setting, as I rode down the little hill into the
village of Ashford, a picturesque little spot in the midst of mountains,
and with a bright clear stream bounding through it, as fearlessly as
though in all the liberty of open country. I tried to make my entrance
what stage people call effective. I threw myself, albeit a little jaded,
into an attitude of easy indifference, slouched my hat to one side, and
suffered the sprig of laburnum, with which I had adorned it, to droop in
graceful guise over one shoulder. The villagers stared; some saluted me;
and taken, perhaps, by the cool acquiescence of my manner, as I returned
the courtesy, seemed well disposed to believe me of some note.

I rode into the little stable-yard of the "Lamb" and dismounted. I
gave up my horse, and walked into the inn. I don't know how others feel
it,--I greatly doubt if they will have the honesty to tell,--but for
myself, I confess that I never entered an inn or an hotel without a
most uncomfortable conflict within: a struggle made up of