frighten a man like Marcel, or provoke him to anger, is as inexplicable
as it is surprising.

He is pacing up and down the hall in a state of the wildest excitement;
and I, with man's truest comfort,--tobacco,--am left to my meditations.

What combination of circumstances reduced him to a porter, I cannot for
the life of me imagine. His hand is as soft as a woman's; and his brow
has a breadth of brain that would dignify a Senator. Notwithstanding the
scrupulous deference in his tone, his manner possesses the quiet ease of
a gentleman, to as great a degree as any I ever saw.

The utter incongruity of his appearance and position struck me the
moment I laid eyes on him. He flourished his napkin with the dainty
grace of a courtier; and when he lifted my luggage to his shoulder, I
was on the point of apologizing. He makes my bed, polishes my shoes,
performs with fidelity the most menial offices; and yet I _cannot_ but
look upon him as an equal. Poor devil! His cheek may burn with the
bluest blood in France. What a pity the world is not moral!

There is something enchanting to me in smoking. It is like a rich
cordial,--nerving every faculty to action. A draught from your
_Cabanas_, the pulse quickens, the mind clears, and thought awakes, like
a fine instrument under the magic touch of a master. The wind moans
drearily without, the rain beats dismally against the windows, the
fagots flicker blue-flamed and weird in the dark recesses of the
chimney-place; but what care I? The white walls are lurid in the flare,
the great bed stands out in the darkness like a grotesque engine of the
Inquisition; but who suffers? _Au troisième, No. 30, Rue Lepelletier_,
was never noted for its comforts; but who would ask a repose more