told his servants to wait for him. It was about nine in the evening,
the curfew had sounded, and Paris was deserted. Bussy arrived
at the Bastile, then he sought for the place where his horse
had fallen, and thought he had found it; he next endeavored to
repeat his movements of the night before, retreated to the wall,
and examined every door to find the corner against which he had
leaned, but all the doors seemed alike.

"Pardieu!" said he, "if I were to knock at each of these doors
question all the lodgers, spend a thousand crowns to make valets
and old women speak, I might learn what I want to know. There
are fifty houses; it would take me at least five nights."

As he spoke, he perceived a small and trembling light approaching.

This light advanced slowly, and irregularly, stopping occasionally,
moving on again, and going first to the right, then to the left,
then, for a minute, coming straight on, and again diverging.
Bussy leaned against a door, and waited. The light continued
to advance, and soon he could see a black figure, which, as it
advanced, took the form of a man, holding a lantern in his left
hand. He appeared to Bussy to belong to the honorable fraternity
of drunkards, for nothing else seemed to explain the eccentric
movements of the lantern. At last he slipped over a piece of
ice, and fell. Bussy was about to come forward and offer his
assistance, but the man and the lantern were quickly up again,
and advanced directly towards him, when he saw, to his great
surprise, that the man had a bandage over his eyes. "Well!" thought
he, "it is a strange thing to play at blind man's buff with a
lantern in your hand. Am I beginning to dream again? And, good