"Boutin set out. He was a lucky fellow! He had two bears, admirably
trained, which brought him in a living. I could not go with him; the
pain I suffered forbade my walking long stages. I wept, monsieur, when
we parted, after I had gone as far as my state allowed in company with
him and his bears. At Carlsruhe I had an attack of neuralgia in the
head, and lay for six weeks on straw in an inn. I should never have
ended if I were to tell you all the distresses of my life as a beggar.
Moral suffering, before which physical suffering pales, nevertheless
excites less pity, because it is not seen. I remember shedding tears,
as I stood in front of a fine house in Strassburg where once I had
given an entertainment, and where nothing was given me, not even a
piece of bread. Having agreed with Boutin on the road I was to take, I
went to every post-office to ask if there were a letter or some money
for me. I arrived at Paris without having found either. What despair I
had been forced to endure! 'Boutin must be dead! I told myself, and in
fact the poor fellow was killed at Waterloo. I heard of his death
later, and by mere chance. His errand to my wife had, of course, been
fruitless.

"At last I entered Paris--with the Cossacks. To me this was grief on
grief. On seeing the Russians in France, I quite forgot that I had no
shoes on my feet nor money in my pocket. Yes, monsieur, my clothes
were in tatters. The evening before I reached Paris I was obliged to
bivouac in the woods of Claye. The chill of the night air no doubt
brought on an attack of some nameless complaint which seized me as I
was crossing the Faubourg Saint-Martin. I dropped almost senseless at
the door of an ironmonger's shop. When I recovered I was in a bed in
the Hotel-Dieu. There I stayed very contentedly for about a month. I
was then turned out; I had no money, but I was well, and my feet were