I hurried past as fast as I could, followed by the laughter of those who heard the remark, thinking to myself it was lucky it was no worse than a jibe that was flung at me.
How long I wandered in that maze of streets I cannot say, but at last I came upon an open space, and, finding it more or less empty, stopped to take my bearings. My only chance to get back to my lodging that night—and it was all-important to do so—was to strike the Seine at some point or other; but in what direction the river lay, I could not, for the life of me, tell. At last I determined to steer by the moon, and, holding her track to the south-west of me, went on, keeping as a landmark on my left the tall spire of a church whose name I then did not know. So I must have plodded on for about an hour, until at last I was sensible that the street in which I was in was wider than the others I had passed through, and, finally, I saw before me a couple of lanterns, evidently slung on a rope that stretched across a street much broader still than the one I was in. That, and the sight of the lanterns, convinced me that I had gained one of the main arteries of the city, and it was with an inward 'Thank God!' that I stepped under the light and looked about me, uncertain which direction I should take, for if I kept the moon behind me, as I had done hitherto, I should have to cross over and leave the street, and I felt sure this would be a serious error that would only lead me into further difficulties. It was as yet not more than a half-hour or so beyond compline, so the street was full. And unwilling to attract the attention of the watch, which had a habit of confining its beat to places where it was least required, I began to stroll slowly down, determined to inquire the way of the first passer-by who looked in a mood amiable enough to exchange a word with so bedraggled a wretch as I was then.
I had not long to wait, for in a short time I noticed one who was evidently a well-to-do citizen hurrying along, with a persuading staff in his right hand, and the muffled figure of a lady clinging on to his left arm. I could make out nothing of her; but the man himself was short and stout of figure, and I ran to the conclusion that he must be a cheery soul, for, as far as I could see by the light of the street lamps, he looked like one who enjoyed a good meal and a can to follow, and approaching, I addressed him—
'Pardon, monsieur, but I have lost my way.'
I had hardly spoken so much, when, loosening his arm from the lady, the little man jumped back a yard, and began flourishing his stick.
I saw that in the next moment he would shout for the watch, and stopped him with a quick—
'Monsieur, I have been attacked and robbed—there,' and I pointed in the direction whence I had come. 'I have escaped but with my life, and I pray you tell me how to find my way to the Rue de Bourdonnais.' The lady, who had at first retreated with a little cry of alarm behind her companion, here stepped forward with a soft—
'Poor man! are you much hurt?'
'Not in the least, mademoiselle, thank you,' and I unconsciously moved a step forward.
'Stand back!' called out the little man, dabbing his stick at me, 'and say Madame, sir—the lady is my wife.'