[Illustration: RICHELIEU THREW HIMSELF AT HER FEET AND CAUGHT HER HAND Page 335] Night had already come as I drew my cloak more closely about me and stepped forth into the street. I had lingered long over my meal, as a man will who has been alone all the day and sees little chance of companionship before him. For in all the city I knew no one, and there seemed small prospect of the night bringing any enjoyment with it. I turned to the left, away from that dingy house in the Rue Bailleul, which was the only home I had thus far found in Paris, determined to forget, for a time at least, its narrow entrance leading to the dirty interior court, where a thousand odors struggl…
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