We felt that we should die of it. Half past eleven had come
and gone; midnight was about to strike. Oh that we had gone on with that
wretched omnibus, no matter what the end. Yes; it had come to that.
At last human nature could bear it no longer: we appealed to the
landlord. He looked up from his game, flushed, startled and repentant.
"What! have they not taken you to the bouchere!" he exclaimed. "Why the
theatre was over long ago, and no doubt everything is arranged. You
shall be conducted at once."
Misery, looking himself more dead than alive (he informed us presently
in an access of confidence that he had had four teeth taken out that day
and felt none the better for it), was told off to act as guide, and
shouldering such baggage as we needed for the night, stepped forth. We
pitied him, he seemed 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.
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