“‘Can’t, mademoiselle:  can’t leave here.’  He gave an indicative jerk
    of his head and thumb in a certain direction toward the railroad.

    “‘Why not?’

    “‘I am the night-watchman, and should lose my place if I left.’

    “Then please point out the road:  I shall have to return alone.’

    “‘Can’t, mademoiselle:  it is too dark.  You would get lost.’

    “I thought I could not get much more lost than I was at that moment,
    but did not say so.  Just then a bright idea struck me:  ’I will walk
    back on the railroad:  I cannot fail to find my way.’

    “The old man looked aghast at the proposition, and pointed to the
    long line of high thick hedge that bordered it on each side.

“’How could you leave the track if you did get to Creil?  They are locked up there for the night.  Besides, you would be crushed by passing trains, and you would be fined too, for it is against the law.  Now,’ he went on in that patronizing manner which, from its naivete is so charming in the French peasant—­’now, mademoiselle does not wish to die to-night, does she, and be also fined?’

    “‘No,’ I replied dolefully, seeing my chances of shelter
    diminishing, ’but I shall certainly die if you will not help me to
    find a hotel.’

    “‘Wait,’ he whispered—­’wait a little until all the world is gone. 
    It won’t be five minutes until every one has departed and every
    light is out in the station; then—­’

“I could not see how this was to improve my condition, but, having no choice, I waited patiently while he went and busied himself about his work.  Presently he returned.  Everything was silent, and pointing mysteriously to the waiting-room in the building, he said in a low voice, ’There is where you can stay till morning.  They would not allow it if they knew, but no one will be the wiser.  You can leave as soon as it is light, and to-night sleep on one of the sofas.  That’s where I sit at night, and I will give it up to you.’

    “The idea was repugnant to me.  I could not consent; it was too
    frightful; it was impossible.  I hastened to say, ’It will not do—­I
    cannot stay here:  you must take me back.  Do take me to Creil.’

    “‘Can’t do it.’

    “’Well, take me to the next town:  there is an inn, and it is not
    far.’

“He wavered, and seeing my distress his good-nature conquered.  ’I will go with you,’ he answered, slowly shaking his head as if admonishing himself for being such a fool; ’but if they should find it out—­’

“You may think it was unkind in me to let him run the risk of losing his place, but what was I to do?  I could not submit to stay at the station like a vagabond, and I could not find my way alone.  So, without allowing him time to change his mind, I set out.  The road