The fellow’s words recalled all my folly of the night before. An impulse as swift as thought led me to feel my pockets and my fob. Alas! they were empty; and like most young men, I had been ass enough to carry all that I possessed about me. I was the dupe of a swindler. In vain did I ask the men about me where Bréville lived; no one knew him. I looked to see if I could recognize the house to which the traitor had taken me; I saw nothing that resembled it.
I rose, with rage and shame in my heart; if at that moment I had caught sight of the scoundrel who had swindled me, I don’t know what I might have done! But, as you may imagine, he did not show himself. I asked the way to my inn, and returned thither sadly enough. But what was I to do? What would become of me? I had not a sou, and I was dressed like a beggar. After playing the grand seigneur, after gratifying one’s every wish, to be reduced to ask alms! What a horrible comedown! How bitterly I then regretted my little hunchback and our séances in magnetism! If only I had been able to begin that trade alone, I should have felt better. But I had not even the means to buy what was required to make pills, and I realized that a somnambulist who had neither coat nor stockings could never put anybody to sleep.
However, I was fully decided to die rather than to beg my living, and it was in that frame of mind that I reached the inn, which I had left the night before in such a different plight. I entered the room where the guests were breakfasting. No one recognized me and the waiters were about to turn me out, when I told them of my melancholy adventures.
The inn-keeper expressed sympathy for me, but did not invite me to return to my room, where I had left a few effects which were hardly sufficient to pay my bill. I stood motionless in the midst of the guests; I said nothing more, but tears rolled down my cheeks and my very silence must have been eloquent.
“Well, young man, what are you going to do now?” asked a voice, which at that moment went straight to my heart. I turned my head and saw two soldiers breakfasting at a table near me.
“Alas! monsieur,” I answered, addressing the one who seemed to look at me with interest, “I have no idea. I have nothing left.”
“Nothing left! a man always has something left when he is a stout-hearted fellow and has done nothing disgraceful. Come, sit down here and breakfast with us and pluck up your courage, morbleu! No one ought to despair at your age.”
These words restored all my good humor; I did not wait to be asked again, and I ate my full share of a slice of ham and a piece of cheese, which composed the breakfast of the two soldiers. When my hunger was somewhat abated, the one who seemed superior in rank addressed me again:
“My boy, you left your parents to make a fool of yourself; the first mistake. You formed intimacies with villains; second mistake. And you allowed yourself to be robbed; third mistake. However, your mistakes are excusable; but look out—after being a dupe, one sometimes becomes a knave. That is what happens only too often to the reckless youngsters, who, like yourself, find themselves without money on the day after a debauch. Then they give way to their passions, to their inclinations for dissipation and idleness; then they resort to low tricks to obtain their living; and at last they become guilty, although they began by simply being reckless. You are on the way, young man, and you must take a stand; you won’t get a dinner by walking about with your arms folded, nor a pair of breeches by looking at the stars, when there are any. Have you a trade?”
“No, monsieur.”