Night came and the search was without reward.
Seeing a sign of "Apartments for single gentlemen," he applied and was shown a modest room that seemed within his means. The landlady was very kind; in fact, she knew people at Gruchy and had often been to Cherbourg—her uncle lived there.
Jean Francois felt relieved to find that even in busy, bustling, frivolous Paris there were friendly people; and when the kind lady suggested that pickpockets in the streets were numerous, and that he had better give his money over to her for safekeeping, he handed out his store of three hundred francs without question.
He never saw his money again.
The next day he still sought the Louvre—not caring to reveal his ignorance by asking the way.
It was several days before Fate led him along the Seine and he found himself on the Pont Neuf. The palace stretching out before him had a familiar look. He stopped and stared. There were the palaces where history had been made. He knew the Tuileries and he knew the Louvre—he had seen pictures of both.
He walked out across the Place de la Concorde, and seeing others enter, made his way through the gates of the sacred precinct.
He was in the Palace of the Louvre; he had found the way, unaided and alone.
His deep religious nature was moved, and taking off his cap he crossed himself in a silent prayer of gratitude.
What his sensations were he partially pictured to his friend Sensier thirty years after: "It seemed as though I had at last attained, achieved. My feelings were too great for words, and I closed my eyes, lest I be dazzled by the sight and then dare not open them lest I should find it all a dream. And if I ever reach Paradise I know my joy will be no greater than it was that first morning when I realized that I stood within the Louvre Palace."