little make for yourselves an interesting position. Your life will be ordinary, the most ordinary existence, but you will have work, respect, rest, and oblivion."
"You are right," she said, and pressed my hand with gratitude. "I feel that I can do as you say; give me my five hundred francs; they are for my mother, who will go to some institution." She kissed me, and I heard nothing more from or of her.
Last summer, in the month of August, I was alone in Paris on business. The weather was admirable. The fancy took me one Saturday to join some friends at G. To do so I had to take the train for Varennes Saint-Hilaire; there I could hire a carriage and drive to G. It seemed a little journey; I preferred taking a carriage in Paris and making the trip comfortably all the way in the open air to enjoy the beautiful cool night rather than two hours in a closed train, as I had done a few days before. I made a bargain with the driver for a remise, who assured me that he knew the road. We started at six o'clock. The man went astray in the different roads and crossings we met, and had to ask his way when we reached C. He was told he had almost turned his back on G, and would have a drive of nearly an hour and a half more. He declared he would go no further unless he was paid twice the fare agreed. I sent him about his business and went in search of another conveyance.
It was harvest time. The horses had been in the field all the day and would be again the next. Impossible to harness any kind of animal for gold or silver. C is not a village, it is only a hamlet. The night had come on; I would have to, unless I slept there, which was not inviting, walk to Varennes Saint-Hilaire, where I would be obliged to take my former combination. It was half-past nine o'clock. I asked my way to Varennes, and, taking up my cour-
