THE POOR TEAVELUiES. 163 



" At length we arrived. The day was declining ; the tra- 

 vellers got together their luggage; she had nothing but a 

 band-box, which she kept close by her side. I conjured up 

 a thousand romances. What can she be going to do at 

 Lyons? Will she be more rich or more happy there? Now 

 the porters called to us from the quays, recommending hotels 

 to us : this tumult, these voices, all awakened me as from 

 a dream. I began to fancy there was a kind of foUy in the 

 sentiments that had taken such strong hold of me. It is 

 strange how soon we become reasonable ; that is to say, less 

 great, less noble, less generous, as we draw near to the cities 

 of men. I determined, however, to do one thing. 



" I divided my money into two parts. I put in one as 

 much as would carry me back home again, without con- 

 tinuing my journey, and in the other what remained. My 

 intention was to give it to the boy, in the midst of the con- 

 fusion of leaving the boat, to avoid all possibility of refusal 

 or thanks, to pass the night at an hotel, and return home on 

 the morrow. But I went to look for my little portmanteau 

 when the boat was moored at the quay, and when I returned 

 could find neither mother nor children. I sought for them 

 in the crowd; but I have reproached myself with thinking, 

 that if my search had been as earnest as were my subsequent 

 regrets, I should have found them. This noise, this crowd, 

 these voices, all appeared to dissipate a sort of intoxication ; 

 it was necessary to take care of my portmanteau, and look 

 for an hotel. 



" By what a fine thread are held the few good or great 

 thoughts that a man has in the course of his life, if it is to 

 be broken by such petty shocks, such petty things, and such 

 petty interests ! 



"I continued my route, dissatisfied with all I met with 

 or saw, and what was stiU worse, dissatisfied with myself 



" I have retained another impression from this journey, 

 still more unpleasant, perhaps, from being more hateful As 

 I followed, in fact, the shore of the lake of Geneva, I came to 

 the castle of Chillon, between Clarens and Villeneuve, which 

 is at the extremity of the lake. I was shown a subterranean 

 vault, fifteen feet below the surface of the water, into which 

 only a small quantity of light entered by an aperture that 



