There was goodness in his countenance, and honour in his bright eyes.
"Your shortest way will be to follow the Boulevard and cross the park," he continued; "but it is too late and too dark for a woman to go through the park alone; I will step with you thus far." He moved on, and I followed him, through the darkness and the small soaking rain.

The Boulevard was all deserted, its path miry, the water dripping from its trees; the park was black as midnight.

In the double gloom of trees and fog, I could not see my guide; I could only follow his tread.

Not the least fear had I: I believe I would have followed that frank tread, through continual night, to the world's end.
"Now," said he, when the park was traversed, "you will go along this broad street till you come to steps; two lamps will show you where they are: these steps you will descend: a narrower street lies below; following that, at the bottom you will find your inn.

They speak English there, so your difficulties are now pretty well over.
Good-night." "Good-night, sir," said I: "accept my sincerest thanks." And we parted.
The remembrance of his countenance, which I am sure wore a light not unbenignant to the friendless--the sound in my ear of his voice, which spoke a nature chivalric to the needy and feeble, as well as the youthful and fair--were a sort of cordial to me long after.