sheet before him. What should he say? Suddenly he thought: "I must
begin with my departure," and he wrote: "In 1874, about the
fifteenth of May, when exhausted France was recruiting after the
catastrophe of the terrible years--" Here he stopped short, not
knowing how to introduce his subject. After a few minutes'
reflection, he decided to lay aside that page until the following
day, and to write a description of Algiers. He began: "Algiers is a
very clean city--" but he could not continue. After an effort he
added: "It is inhabited partly by Arabs." Then he threw his pen upon
the table and arose. He glanced around his miserable room; mentally
he rebelled against his poverty and resolved to leave the next day.

Suddenly the desire to work came on him, and he tried to begin the
article again; he had vague ideas of what he wanted to say, but he
could not express his thoughts in words. Convinced of his inability
he arose once more, his blood coursing rapidly through his veins. He
turned to the window just as the train was coming out of the tunnel,
and his thoughts reverted to his parents. He saw their tiny home on
the heights overlooking Rouen and the valley of the Seine. His
father and mother kept an inn, La Belle-Vue, at which the citizens
of the faubourgs took their lunches on Sundays. They had wished to
make a "gentleman" of their son and had sent him to college. His
studies completed, he had entered the army with the intention of
becoming an officer, a colonel, or a general. But becoming disgusted
with military life, he determined to try his fortune in Paris. When
his time of service had expired, he went thither, with what results
we have seen. He awoke from his reflections as the locomotive
whistled shrilly, closed his window, and began to disrobe,
muttering: "Bah, I shall be able to work better to-morrow morning.
My brain is not clear to-night. I have drunk a little too much. I