That pretty woman yonder, on the contrary, whose looks are so modest, and whose dress is so elaborate, slackens her pace with the increasing storm.  She seems to find pleasure in braving it, and does not think of her velvet cloak spotted by the hail!  She is evidently a lioness in sheep’s clothing.

Here, a young man, who was passing, stops to catch some of the hailstones in his hand, and examines them.  By his quick and business-like walk just now, you would have taken him for a tax-gatherer on his rounds, when he is a young philosopher, studying the effects of electricity.  And those schoolboys who leave their ranks to run after the sudden gusts of a March whirlwind; those girls, just now so demure, but who now fly with bursts of laughter; those national guards, who quit the martial attitude of their days of duty to take refuge under a porch!  The storm has caused all these transformations.

See, it increases!  The hardiest are obliged to seek shelter.  I see every one rushing toward the shop in front of my window, which a bill announces is to let.  It is for the fourth time within a few months.  A year ago all the skill of the joiner and the art of the painter were employed in beautifying it, but their works are already destroyed by the leaving of so many tenants; the cornices of the front are disfigured by mud; the arabesques on the doorway are spoiled by bills posted upon them to announce the sale of the effects.  The splendid shop has lost some of its embellishments with each change of the tenant.  See it now empty, and left open to the passersby.  How much does its fate resemble that of so many who, like it, only change their occupation to hasten the faster to ruin!

I am struck by this last reflection:  since the morning everything seems to speak to me, and with the same warning tone.  Everything says:  “Take care! be content with your happy, though humble lot; happiness can be retained only by constancy; do not forsake your old patrons for the protection of those who are unknown!”

Are they the outward objects which speak thus, or does the warning come from within?  Is it not I myself who give this language to all that surrounds me?  The world is but an instrument, to which we give sound at will.  But what does it signify if it teaches us wisdom?  The low voice that speaks in our breasts is always a friendly voice, for it tells us what we are, that is to say, what is our capability.  Bad conduct results, for the most part, from mistaking our calling.  There are so many fools and knaves, because there are so few men who know themselves.  The question is not to discover what will suit us, but for what we are suited!

What should I do among these many experienced financial speculators?  I am only a poor sparrow, born among the housetops, and should always fear the enemy crouching in the dark corner; I am a prudent workman, and should think of the business of my neighbors who so suddenly disappeared; I am a timid observer, and should call to mind the flowers so slowly raised by the old soldier, or the shop brought to ruin by constant change of masters.  Away from me, ye banquets, over which hangs the sword of Damocles!  I am a country mouse.  Give me my nuts and hollow tree, and I ask nothing besides—­except security.