The morning of the 25th was dull and rainy; the road, very muddy and unpleasant, led over the hills, avoiding the westward curve of the Rhone, directly towards Lyons.  About noon, we came in sight of the broad valley in which the Rhone first clasps his Burgundian bride—­the Saone, and a cloud of impenetrable coal-smoke showed us the location of Lyons.  A nearer approach revealed a large flat dome, and some ranges of tall buildings near the river.  We soon entered the suburb of La Guillotiere, which has sprung up on the eastern bank of the Rhone.  Notwithstanding our clothes were like sponges, our boots entirely worn out, and our bodies somewhat thin with nine days exposure to the wintry storms in walking two hundred and forty miles, we entered Lyons with suspense and anxiety.  But one franc apiece remained out of the fifteen with which we left Marseilles.  B——­ wrote home some time ago, directing a remittance to be forwarded to a merchant at Paris, to whom he had a letter of introduction, and in the hope that this had arrived, he determined to enclose the letter in a note, stating our circumstances, and requesting him to forward a part of the remittance to Lyons.  We had then to wait at least four days; people are suspicious and mistrustful in cities, and if no relief should come, what was to be done?

After wading through the mud of the suburbs, we chose a common-looking inn near the river, as the comfort of our stay depended wholly on the kindness of our hosts, and we hoped to find more sympathy among the laboring classes.  We engaged lodgings for four or five days; after dinner the letter was dispatched, and we wandered about through the dark, dirty city until night.  Our landlord, Monsieur Ferrand, was a rough, vigorous man, with a gloomy, discontented expression; his words were few and blunt; but a certain restlessness of manner, and a secret flashing of his cold, forbidding eye betrayed to me some strong hidden excitement.  Madame Ferrand was kind and talkative, though passionate; but the appearance of the place gave me an unfavorable impression, which was heightened by the thought that it was now impossible to change our lodgings until relief should arrive.  When bed-time came, a ladder was placed against a sort of high platform along one side of the kitchen; we mounted and found a bed, concealed from the view of those below by a dusty muslin curtain.  We lay there, between heaven and earth—­the dirty earth of the brick floor and the sooty heaven of the ceiling—­listening until midnight to the boisterous songs, and loud, angry disputes in the room adjoining.  Thus ended our first day in Lyons.