And to this direction yet another consideration induced me. With the approach of chillier weather the wild wood-life of the wilder provinces asserted itself, and assumed a more menacing aspect. The abolition of the game laws had brought about, indeed, an amazing increase in the number of wolves and foxes; and what with these on one side and sans-culottism on the other, I had often latterly felt myself walking between the devil and the deep sea. Then, once upon a time, I was joined by an odd roguish way-fellow, the obliquity of whose moral vision I overlooked for the sake of his company; and through him was my burden of self-dependence a little lightened. I had sunk asleep one afternoon in a copse neighbouring on the royal village of Cléry. Autumn is all a siesta in that mild and beautiful district. Waking, I felt the sunlight on my eyes like a damp warm sponge; and so with my lids gratefully closed I fell a-musing. “To think,” I murmured, “that the twang of a beetle’s bowstring at my ear on the old bridge outside Coutras should have been the key-note to all this devil’s dance of mine!” I thought I heard a faint rustle somewhere at hand--a squirrel or coney. I paid no attention to it, but indulged my mood of introspection. By-and-by a step came towards me, advancing boldly amongst the trees from a distance. It approached, reached, stopped over against me. I opened my eyes as I lay, my arms under my head, and placidly surveyed the new-comer. He stood looking down upon me, his fingers heaped upon the black crutch of his _bâton_, and when he saw me awake he nodded his head in a lively manner. “The occasion is opportune,” he said, in a quick, biting voice. His lower jaw projected, showing a straight row of little even teeth--like palings to keep his speech within bounds. The brightness of his half-seen eyes belied the indolence of their lids. He wore a jacket of sheepskin, wool outwards; and a leathern bag, stuffed with printed broadsides, hung from his shoulder by a length of scarlet tape. On his head was a three-cornered hat, fantastically caught up with ribbons, and his legs and feet were encased respectively in fine black hose and the neat pumps with buckles known as _pantoufles de Palais_. “_Comment?_” said I, without moving. “The citizen has slept?” “Most tranquilly.” “The citizen has dreamt?” “Without doubt. And he is awake.” He made a comprehensive gesture with his stick and his hands. “But I interpret dreams,” said he--“and at one price. I will unravel you the visions of a politician or expound himself to Jack Hodge for the common charge of fifty centimes.” He bent his head towards me with an affectation of scrutiny. “I perceive the citizen does not credit me,” he said. “And so his eyes rebuke his scepticism, interpreter of dreams,” said I; “for thou hast rightly construed their meaning.” “Ah!” he murmured, raising himself and drawing in his breath. “But I find it simple to convince the most incredulous.” “You do?”