man afflicted with a moral malady as he leaned upon that parapet.
Attracted perhaps by the harmony between his thoughts and those to
which these diverse scenes gave birth, he rested his hands upon the
coping and gave way to a double contemplation,--of Paris, and of
himself! The shadows deepened, the lights shone out afar, but still he
did not move, carried along as he was on the current of a meditation,
such as comes to many of us, big with the future and rendered solemn
by the past.

After a while he heard two persons coming towards him, whose voices
had caught his attention on the bridge which joins the Ile de la Cite
with the quai de la Tournelle. These persons no doubt thought
themselves alone, and therefore spoke louder than they would have done
in more frequented places. The voices betrayed a discussion which
apparently, from the few words that reached the ear of the involuntary
listener, related to a loan of money. Just as the pair approached the
quay, one of them, dressed like a working man, left the other with a
despairing gesture. The other stopped and called after him, saying:--

"You have not a sou to pay your way across the bridge. Take this," he
added, giving the man a piece of money; "and remember, my friend, that
God Himself is speaking to us when a good thought comes into our
hearts."

This last remark made the dreamer at the parapet quiver. The man who
made it little knew that, to use a proverbial expression, he was
killing two birds with one stone, addressing two miseries,--a working
life brought to despair, a suffering soul without a compass, the
victim of what Panurge's sheep call progress, and what, in France, is
called equality. The words, simple in themselves, became sublime from