The Cigarette and I could not sufficiently congratulate each other on the prospect, for we had been told there was a capital inn at La Fere.  Such a dinner as we were going to eat! such beds as we were to sleep in!—­and all the while the rain raining on houseless folk over all the poplared countryside!  It made our mouths water.  The inn bore the name of some woodland animal, stag, or hart, or hind, I forget which.  But I shall never forget how spacious and how eminently habitable it looked as we drew near.  The carriage entry was lighted up, not by intention, but from the mere superfluity of fire and candle in the house.  A rattle of many dishes came to our ears; we sighted a great field of table-cloth; the kitchen glowed like a forge and smelt like a garden of things to eat.

Into this, the inmost shrine and physiological heart of a hostelry, with all its furnaces in action, and all its dressers charged with viands, you are now to suppose us making our triumphal entry, a pair of damp rag-and-bone men, each with a limp india-rubber bag upon his arm.  I do not believe I have a sound view of that kitchen; I saw it through a sort of glory:  but it seemed to me crowded with the snowy caps of cookmen, who all turned round from their saucepans and looked at us with surprise.  There was no doubt about the landlady, however:  there she was, heading her army, a flushed, angry woman, full of affairs.  Her I asked politely—­too politely, thinks the Cigarette—­if we could have beds:  she surveying us coldly from head to foot.

‘You will find beds in the suburb,’ she remarked.  ’We are too busy for the like of you.’

If we could make an entrance, change our clothes, and order a bottle of wine, I felt sure we could put things right; so said I:  ’If we cannot sleep, we may at least dine,’—­and was for depositing my bag.

What a terrible convulsion of nature was that which followed in the landlady’s face!  She made a run at us, and stamped her foot.

‘Out with you—­out of the door!’ she screeched.  ’Sortez! sortez! sortez par la porte!’

I do not know how it happened, but next moment we were out in the rain and darkness, and I was cursing before the carriage entry like a disappointed mendicant.  Where were the boating men of Belgium? where the Judge and his good wines? and where the graces of Origny?  Black, black was the night after the firelit kitchen; but what was that to the blackness in our heart?  This was not the first time that I have been refused a lodging.  Often and often have I planned what I should do if such a misadventure happened to me again.  And nothing is easier to plan.  But to put in execution, with the heart boiling at the indignity?  Try it; try it only once; and tell me what you did.

It is all very fine to talk about tramps and morality.  Six hours of police surveillance (such as I have had), or one brutal rejection from an inn-door, change your views upon the subject like a course of lectures.  As long as you keep in the upper regions, with all the world bowing to you as you go, social arrangements have a very handsome air; but once get under the wheels, and you wish society were at the devil.  I will give most respectable men a fortnight of such a life, and then I will offer them twopence for what remains of their morality.