A GOOD SAMARITAN.
A LONG, ugly, stupid street leads to the principal Place of Cosne. Its pavé is surely the vilest to be found in all the length and breadth of France.—When we came into the town it was full of slouchy, disorderly soldiers. We pushed the tricycle to the Hôtel d’Etoile, which the commercial gentlemen of St. Just had praised. We should forget the miseries of the day over a good dinner.—The landlady came to the door and looked at us. She had no room, she declared, and could do nothing for us. Her house was full of officers and gentlemen. J—— asked what other hotel she would recommend.
She pointed to an auberge across the street. It was small and mean, with soldiers standing in the doorway and at the windows. She could not in words have said more plainly what she thought of us.——
Was there a table d’hôte over there?
She did not know, with an indifferent shrug of her shoulders.
If we could not sleep in the Etoile, could we eat in it?
“No, that is altogether impossible,” and she turned her back upon us and went into the house.
—I could have cried in my disappointment.