saw to-day.

"And now THIS is what happened. In his chamber in the Rue St. Honore, at
Paris, sat a man ALONE--a man who has been maligned, a man who has been
called a knave and charlatan, a man who has been persecuted even to the
death, it is said, in Roman Inquisitions, forsooth, and elsewhere. Ha!
ha! A man who has a mighty will.

"And looking towards the Jacobins Convent (of which, from his chamber,
he could see the spires and trees), this man WILLED. And it was not yet
dawn. And he willed; and one who was lying in his cell in the convent
of Jacobins, awake and shuddering with terror for a crime which he had
committed, fell asleep.

"But though he was asleep his eyes were open.

"And after tossing and writhing, and clinging to the pallet, and saying,
'No, I will not go,' he rose up and donned his clothes--a gray coat, a
vest of white pique, black satin small-clothes, ribbed silk stockings,
and a white stock with a steel buckle; and he arranged his hair, and
he tied his queue, all the while being in that strange somnolence
which walks, which moves, which FLIES sometimes, which sees, which is
indifferent to pain, which OBEYS. And he put on his hat, and he went
forth from his cell; and though the dawn was not yet, he trod the
corridors as seeing them. And he passed into the cloister, and then into
the garden where lie the ancient dead. And he came to the wicket,
which Brother Jerome was opening just at the dawning. And the crowd was
already waiting with their cans and bowls to receive the alms of the
good brethren.

"And he passed through the crowd and went on his way, and the few people
then abroad who marked him, said, 'Tiens! how very odd he looks!
He looks like a man walking in his sleep!' This was said by various
persons:--

"By milk-women, with their cans and carts, coming into the town.

"By roysterers who had been drinking at the taverns of the Barrier, for
it was Mid-Lent.

"By the sergeants of the watch, who eyed him sternly as he passed near
their halberds.

"But he passed on unmoved by their halberds,

"Unmoved by the cries of the roysterers,

"By the market-women coming with their milk and eggs.

"He walked through the Rue St. Honore, I say:--

"By the Rue Rambuteau,

"By the Rue St. Antoine,

"By the King's Chateau of the Bastille,

"By the Faubourg St. Antoine.

"And he came to No. 29 in the Rue Picpus--a house which then stood
between a court and garden--

"That is, there was a