He had lampooned them in verses, he had beaten and cheated
them; and yet now, when he was in so close a pinch, he thought
there was at least one who might perhaps relent. It was a chance.
It was worth trying at least, and he would go and see.
On the way, two little accidents happened to him which coloured his
musings in a very different manner. For, first, he fell in with
the track of a patrol, and walked in it for some hundred yards,
although it lay out of his direction. And this spirited him up; at
least he had confused his trail; for he was still possessed with
the idea of people tracking him all about Paris over the snow, and
collaring him next morning before he was awake. The other matter
affected him very differently. He passed a street corner, where,
not so long before, a woman and her child had been devoured by
wolves. This was just the kind of weather, he reflected, when
wolves might take it into their heads to enter Paris again; and a
lone man in these deserted streets would run the chance of
something worse than a mere scare. He stopped and looked upon the
place with an unpleasant interest - it was a centre where several
lanes intersected each other; and he looked down them all one after
another, and held his breath to listen, lest he should detect some
galloping black things on the snow or hear the sound of howling
between him and the river. He remembered his mother telling him
the story and pointing out the spot, while he was yet a child.
Pages:
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322