ieved
that Zadig would be blind of an eye; nor did Azora cease to lament her
having attempted to cut off his nose. Their griefs, however, he
softened by his presents. The envious man died of rage and shame. The
empire enjoyed peace, glory, and plenty. This was the happiest age of
the earth; it was governed by love and justice. The people blessed
Zadig, and Zadig blessed Heaven.

PEDRO DE ALARCON

_The Nail_

I

The thing which is most ardently desired by a man who steps into a
stagecoach, bent upon a long journey, is that his companions may be
agreeable, that they may have the same tastes, possibly the same vices,
be well educated and know enough not to be too familiar.

When I opened the door of the coach I felt fearful of encountering an
old woman suffering with the asthma, an ugly one who could not bear the
smell of tobacco smoke, one who gets seasick every time she rides in a
carriage, and little angels who are continually yelling and screaming
for God knows what.

Sometimes you may have hoped to have a beautiful woman for a traveling
companion; for instance, a widow of twenty or thirty years of age (let
us say, thirty-six), whose delightful conversation will help you pass
away the time. But if you ever had this idea, as a reasonable man you
would quickly dismiss it, for you know that such good fortune does not
fall to the lot of the ordinary mortal. These thoughts were in my mind
when I opened the door of the stagecoach at exactly eleven o'clock on a
stormy night of the Autumn of 1844. I had ticket No. 2, and I was
wondering who No. 1 might be. The ticket agent had assured me that No.
3 had not been sold.

It was pitch dark within. When I entered I said, "Good evening," but no
answer came. "The devil!" I said to myself. "Is my traveling companion
deaf, dumb, or asleep?" Then I said in a louder tone: "Good evening,"
but no answer came.

All this time the stagecoach was whirling along, drawn by ten horses.

I was puzzled. Who was my companion? Was it a man? Was it a woman? Who
was the silent No. 1, and, whoever it might be, why did he or she not
reply to my courteous salutation? It would have been well to have lit a
match, but I was not smoking then and had none with me. What should I
do? I concluded to rely upon my sense of feeling, and stretched out my
hand to the place where No. 1 should have been, wondering whether I
would touch a silk dress or an overcoat, but there was nothing there.
At tha