, and in the hope that this had arrived, he determined to
enclose the letter in a note, stating our circumstances, and requesting
him to forward a part of the remittance to Lyons. We had then to wait at
least four days; people are suspicious and mistrustful in cities, and if
no relief should come, what was to be done?

After wading through the mud of the suburbs, we chose a common-looking
inn near the river, as the comfort of our stay depended wholly on the
kindness of our hosts, and we hoped to find more sympathy among the
laboring classes. We engaged lodgings for four or five days; after
dinner the letter was dispatched, and we wandered about through the
dark, dirty city until night. Our landlord, Monsieur Ferrand, was a
rough, vigorous man, with a gloomy, discontented expression; his words
were few and blunt; but a certain restlessness of manner, and a secret
flashing of his cold, forbidding eye betrayed to me some strong hidden
excitement. Madame Ferrand was kind and talkative, though passionate;
but the appearance of the place gave me an unfavorable impression, which
was heightened by the thought that it was now impossible to change our
lodgings until relief should arrive. When bed-time came, a ladder was
placed against a sort of high platform along one side of the kitchen; we
mounted and found a bed, concealed from the view of those below by a
dusty muslin curtain. We lay there, between heaven and earth--the dirty
earth of the brick floor and the sooty heaven of the ceiling--listening
until midnight to the boisterous songs, and loud, angry disputes in the
room adjoining. Thus ended our first day in Lyons.

Five weary days, each of them containing a month of torturing suspense,
have since passed. Our lodging-place grew so unpleasant that we
preferred wandering all day through the misty, muddy, smoky streets,
taking refuge in the covered bazaars when it rained heavily. The gloom
of every thing around us, entirely smothered down the lightness of heart
which made us laugh over our embarrassments at Vienna. When at evening,
the dull, leaden hue of the clouds seemed to make the air dark and cold
and heavy, we walked beside the swollen and turbid Rhone, under an
avenue of leafless trees, the damp soil chilling our feet and striking a
numbness through our frames, and _then_ I knew what those must feel who
have _no_ hope in their destitution, and not a friend in all the great
world, who is not wretched as themselves. I pri