The boy came forward into the biting air and gazed down into the
well-like depths of gloom, at the bottom of which could be discerned a
small flagged court, ornamented by a couple of dwarfed and frost-bitten
trees in painted tubs.

Jean, watchful of the visitor's face, broke forth anew with
inexhaustible tact.

'It was a fine view--monsieur would admit that! But, naturally, it was
not the street! Now No. 107, across the corridor--at five francs--?'

Monsieur was aroused. "No! No! certainly not. The view was of no
consequence. The bed looked all right."

'The bed!' Here Jean spoke with deep feeling. 'There was no better bed
in Paris. Had he not himself put clean sheets on it that day?' He turned
from the window, and with the hand of an expert displayed the beauties
of the sparse blankets, the cotton sheets, and the mountainous double
mattress.

'But monsieur was anxious to retire? Doubtless monsieur would sleep
until _déjeuner_? A most excellent _déjeuner_ was served in the
_salle-à-manger_ on the second floor.'

The words flowed forth in a stream--agreeable, monotonous, reminiscent
of the far-away province that had long ago bred this good creature.
Suddenly the exhaustion of the long journey, the sleep so long denied
rose about the traveller like a misty vapor. He longed for solitude; he
pined for rest.