I followed this man along a rudely-paved street, lit
now by a fitful gleam of moonlight; he brought me
to the inn. I offered him sixpence, which he
refused to take; supposing it not enough, I changed
it for a shilling; but this also he declined, speaking
rather sharply, in a language to me unknown.
A waiter, coming forward into the lamp-lit inn-passage,
reminded me, in broken English, that my money was foreign
money, not current here. I gave him a sovereign
to change. This little matter settled, I asked
for a bedroom; supper I could not take: I was
still sea-sick and unnerved, and trembling all over.
How deeply glad I was when the door of a very small
chamber at length closed on me and my exhaustion.
Again I might rest: though the cloud of doubt
would be as thick to-morrow as ever; the necessity
for exertion more urgent, the peril (of destitution)
nearer, the conflict (for existence) more severe.
VILLETTE.
I awoke next morning with courage revived and spirits
refreshed: physical debility no longer enervated
my judgment; my mind felt prompt and clear.
Just as I finished dressing, a tap came to the door:
I said, “Come in,” expecting the chambermaid,
whereas a rough man walked in and said,—
“Gif me your keys, Meess.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Gif!” said he impatiently; and as he
half-snatched them from my hand, he added, “All
right! haf your tronc soon.”
Fortunately it did turn out all right: he was
from the custom-house. Where to go to get some
breakfast I could not tell; but I proceeded, not without
hesitation, to descend.
I now observed, what I had not noticed in my extreme
weariness last night, viz. that this inn was,
in fact, a large hotel; and as I slowly descended
the broad staircase, halting on each step (for I was
in wonderfully little haste to get down), I gazed
at the high ceiling above me, at the painted walls
around, at the wide windows which filled the house
with light, at the veined marble I trod (for the steps
were all of marble, though uncarpeted and not very
clean), and contrasting all this with the dimensions
of the closet assigned to me as a chamber, with the
extreme modesty of its appointments, I fell into a
philosophizing mood.
Much I marvelled at the sagacity evinced by waiters
and chamber-maids in proportioning the accommodation
to the guest. How could inn-servants and ship-stewardesses
everywhere tell at a glance that I, for instance,
was an individual of no social significance, and little
burdened by cash? They did know it evidently:
I saw quite well that they all, in a moment’s
calculation, estimated me at about the same fractional
value. The fact seemed to me curious and pregnant:
I would not disguise from myself what it indicated,
yet managed to keep up my spirits pretty well under
its pressure.
