Tracing my path along the wall, I soon reached a door which I in vain attempted to open; in another moment I found another and another, each of which were locked.  Thus along the entire corridor I felt my way, making every effort to discover where any of the people of the house might have concealed themselves, but without success.  What was to be done now?  It was of no use to go back to my late abode, and find it comfortless as I left it; so I resolved to proceed in my search; by this time I had arrived at the top of a small flight of stairs, which I remembered having come up, and which led to another long passage similar to the one I had explored, but running in a transverse direction, down this I now crept, and reached the landing, along the wall of which I was guided by my hand, as well for safety as to discover the architrave of some friendly door, where the inhabitant might be sufficiently Samaritan to lend some portion of his bed-clothes; door after door followed in succession along this confounded passage, which I began to think as long as the gallery of the lower one; at last, however, just as my heart was sinking within me from disappointment, the handle of a lock turned, and I found myself inside a chamber.  How was I now to proceed? for if this apartment did not contain any of the people of the hotel, I had but a sorry excuse for disturbing the repose of any traveller who might have been more fortunate than myself in the article of blankets.  To go back however, would be absurd, having already taken so much trouble to find out a room that was inhabited—­for that such was the case, a short, thick snore assured me —­so that my resolve was at once made, to waken the sleeper, and endeavour to interest him in my destitute situation.  I accordingly approached the place where the nasal sounds seemed to issue from, and soon reached the post of a bed.  I waited for an instant, and then began,

“Monsier, voulez vous bien me permettre—­”

“As to short whist, I never could make it out, so there is an end of it,” said my unknown friend, in a low, husky voice, which, strangely enough, was not totally unfamiliar to me:  but when or how I had heard it before I could not then think.

Well, thought I, he is an Englishman at all events, so I hope his patriotism may forgive my intrusion, so here goes once more to rouse him, though he seems a confoundedly heavy sleeper.  “I beg your pardon, sir, but unfortunately in a point like the present, perhaps—­”

“Well, do you mark the points, and I’ll score the rubber,” said he.

“The devil take the gambling fellow’s dreaming,” thought I, raising my voice at the same time.

“Perhaps a cold night, sir, may suffice as my apology.”

“Cold, oh, ay! put a hot poker to it,” muttered he; “a hot poker, a little sugar, and a spice of nutmeg—­nothing else—­then it’s delicious.”

“Upon my soul, this is too bad,” said I to myself.  “Let us see what shaking will do.  Sir, sir, I shall feel obliged by—­”