The mind of the boy was very full as he passed out of the hotel, so full that he scarcely noticed the whip of cold air that stung his face or the white mantle that lay upon the streets, wrapping in a silver sheath all that was sordid, all that was dirty and unpicturesque in that corner of Paris.

The human note had been touched in that moment in the _salle-a-manger,_ and his ears still tingled to its sound.

Alarm, disgust, and a strange exultant satisfaction warred within him in a manner to be comprehended by his own soul alone.
As he stepped out into the rue de Dunkerque he scarcely questioned in what direction his feet should carry him.

North, south, east, or west were equal on that first day.

Everywhere was promise--everywhere a call.
Nonchalantly and without intention he turned to the left and found himself once more in face of the Gare du Nord.
It is a good thing to rejoice in spite of the world; it is an infinitely better thing to rejoice in company with it.