er.'

'And a very long road.'

'A cursed road.'

His hoarse voice failed him, and he rested his head upon his hands until
a bottle of wine was brought from the counter. Having filled and emptied
his little tumbler twice, and having broken off an end from the great
loaf that was set before him with his cloth and napkin, soup-plate,
salt, pepper, and oil, he rested his back against the corner of the
wall, made a couch of the bench on which he sat, and began to chew
crust, until such time as his repast should be ready. There had been
that momentary interruption of the talk about the stove, and that
temporary inattention to and distraction from one another, which is
usually inseparable in such a company from the arrival of a stranger. It
had passed over by this time; and the men had done glancing at him, and
were talking again.

'That's the true reason,' said one of them, bringing a story he had
been telling, to a close, 'that's the true reason why they said that the
devil was let loose.' The speaker was the tall Swiss belonging to the
church, and he brought something of the authority of the church into the
discussion--especially as the devil was in question.

The landlady having given her directions for the new guest's
entertainment to her husband, who acted as cook to the Break of Day, had
resumed her needlework behind her counter. She was a smart, neat, bright
little woman, with a good deal of cap and a good deal of stocking, and
she struck into the conversation with several laughing nods of her head,
but without looking up from her work.

'Ah Heaven, then,' said she. 'When the boat came up from Lyons, and
brought the news that the devil was actually let loose at Marseilles,
some fly-catchers swallowed it. But I? No, not I.'

'Madame, you are always right,' returned the tall Swiss. 'Doubtless you
were enraged against that man, madame?'

'Ay, yes, then!' cried the landlady, raising her eyes from her work,
opening them very wide, and tossing her head on one side. 'Naturally,
yes.'

'He was a bad subject.'

'He was a wicked wretch,' said the landlady, 'and well merited what he
had the good fortune to escape. So much the worse.'

'Stay, madame! Let us see,' returned the Swiss, argumentatively turning
his cigar between his lips. 'It may have been his unfortunate destiny.
He may have been the child of circumstances. It is always possible that
he had, and has, good in him if one did but know how to find it out.
P