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I opened the door accordingly a●nd stepped inside, only to be● driven out again by a ser


ies of feminine s▓hrieks before I had an opportu●nity to make out, in a badly-lighted kitc●hen, the exact source of the uproar.I sat▓ down in the rain outside the d●oor that had been slammed an▓d bolted behind me and waited. When the la▓st café had ceased its shoutin●g, a

nother villager, half in uniform, push▓ed past me and knocked for admitta▓nce.Certain that he was a gendarme,● I followed him inside.At the ▓back of the room, over a stove from wh●ich rose tantalizing odors, stoo▓d two women who, catching sight of me, delug●ed the officer with a flood of words.▓ “Here, mon vieux,” he snappe▓d, whirling upon me, “what d▓o you mean by marching into my house and frigh●tening my women out of their wits▓” I excu

sed my conduct

Aliquam Risus Justo

on the g●round of advice too hastily taken.The gendarm●e scowled over my papers, tucked


them away▓ in a greasy cupboard behind t●he stove, and turned with me out into the night●.The Asile was not far distant, and it was ▓unoccupied.The officer set a c●andle-end on a beam and, bidding me not to se●t the place on fire and to exchange the key ▓for my papers in the morning, departed.I burro▓wed deep into the straw with which the shelf was● covered and fell to sleep in my w●ater-soaked garments. Short rations and plan▓k beds had left me i

n no conditio●n to cover in a single day the thir●ty-five miles between Le Beausset and M▓arseilles.I found my legs giving way● when darkness caught me some distance from t▓he harbor and, having no hope● of finding a better lodging, sat down aga▓inst a tree on an outer boule▓vard.A bitter wind blew, for i▓t was the last day of October and well north o●f Naples.In the far west of m●y own country, however, I had lear▓ned a trick of great value “on the

road.” It ●

is, that a coat thrown over the head is far mor▓e protection while sleeping out of

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doors than▓ when worn in the usual manner.I was▓, therefore, unmolested as long as the night las▓ted, no doubt because passers-by saw in my huddl●ed form only a grain-sack dropped by the way●side. CHAPTER V A “B▓EACHCOMBER” IN MARSEILLES It was ●well for my immediate peace of mind that● no prophet accosted me on my way down to t


h●e harbor next morning, to foret●ell the hungry days that were to be my port▓ion in Marseilles.One of the strikes t●hat periodically tie up the seap●ort of southern France was at its h▓eight.Dozens of sailing vessels rode at anchor ▓in the little “Old Har

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