Before the day was over the pair could enter the capital. The young man's heart beat as he perceived Notre Dame Cathedral towers and the ocean of housetops.
"Oh, Paris!" he cried with rapture.
"Yes, Paris, a mass of buildings, a gulf of evils," said the old gentleman. "On each stone yonder you would see a drop of blood or a tear, if the miseries within those abodes could show themselves without."
Gilbert repressed his enthusiasm, which cooled of itself.
They entered by a poor district and the sights were hideous.
"It is going on eight," said the conductor, "let us be quick, young man, for goodness' sake."
Gilbert hurried on.
"I forget to say that I am a married man," said the stranger, after a cold silence which began to worry the youth. "And my wife, who is a genuine Parisian, will probably grumble at our coming home late. Besides, she does not like strangers. Still, I have invited you; so, come along. Or, rather, here we are."
By the last sunbeams, Gilbert, looking up, saw the name-plate of Plastrière Street at a corner.