We sped towards Paris. As we came down from Saint-Cyr, I was struck by the width of the roads and the evenness of the plantations. Soon we reached Versailles: the orangery with its marble stairs amazed me. The success of the American War had brought triumphs to Louis XIV.'s palace; the Queen reigned there in all the splendour of youth and beauty; the Throne, so near its fall, seemed never to have been more solidly established. And I, an obscure passer-by, was destined to outlive this pomp, to survive to see the woods of Trianon as deserted as those which I was then leaving. At last we drove into Paris. I saw a bantering look in every face: like the Périgord squire, I thought people looked at me to make fun of me. Madame Rose made them drive to the Hôtel de l'Europe in the Rue du Mail, and hastened to rid herself of her simpleton. Scarce had I stepped from the carriage when she said to the porter: "Give this gentleman a room. Your servant," she added, with a bob courtesy. I never saw Madame Rose again in my life. * A woman preceded me up a dark and steep staircase, holding a labelled key in her hand; a Savoyard followed with my little trunk. When we reached the third floor, the chamber-maid opened a room; the Savoyard put the trunk across the arms of a chair. The chamber-maid asked: "Does monsieur require anything?" I answered, "No." [Sidenote: My cousin Moreau.] Three whistles sounded; the chamber-maid cried, "Coming!" rushed out, closed the door, and tumbled downstairs with the Savoyard. When I found myself alone in my room, my heart became so strangely full that I was nearly taking the road back to Brittany. All that I had heard tell of Paris returned to my mind; I was embarrassed in a hundred ways. I should have liked to go to bed, and the bed was not made; I was hungry, and did not know how to set about dining. I was afraid of committing a solecism: ought I to call the people of the hotel? Ought I to go downstairs? To whom should I apply? I ventured to put my head out of the window: I saw only a small inner yard, deep as a well, through which people came and went who would never dream of giving a thought to the prisoner on the third floor. I went and sat down beside the dirty recess in which I was to sleep, reduced to examining the figures on the paper with which its walls were hung. A distant sound of voices reached my ears, increased, drew nigh; my door opened: in came my brother and one of my cousins, the son of a sister of my mother's who had made none too good a marriage. Madame Rose had after all taken pity on the numskull, and had sent word to my brother, whose address she learnt at Rennes, that I had arrived in Paris. My brother clasped me in his arms. My Cousin Moreau was a big fat man, daubed all over with snuff, who ate like an ogre, talked a great deal, was always trotting about, puffing, choking, with his mouth half open, his tongue half out, who knew everybody, and was equally at home in gaming-houses, antechambers,