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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
Chapter XIII. ARCIS-SUR-AUBE.
Late and tired, I arrived, one September evening, at Arcis-sur-Aube, birthplace and home of the great
Danton.
I had brought with me letters of introduction to friends' friends, unaware that at such a moment the
sign-manual of the President of the Republic himself would hardly have secured me a night's lodging.
For at this especial moment the little town, from end to end, was in the possession of the military
headquarters of that year's manoeuvres.
Every private dwelling showed a notice of the officers in command sheltered under its roof. Here and
there, the presence of sentinels indicated the location of generals. The hotels were crowded from
basement to attic, folks who let lodgings for hire had made bargains long before, whilst the very poorest
made up beds, or turned out of their own, to accommodate the rank and file. At the extreme end of the
town, close to the ancestral home of the Dantons, stands the straggling old-fashioned Hotel de la Poste, a
hostelry, I should suppose, not in the least changed since the days of the great conventionnel. All here
was bustle and excitement. Mine host was spitting game in the kitchen, and could hardly find time to
answer my application; soldiers and officers' servants, scullions and men of all-work, almost knocked
each other down in the inn-yard, the landlady, generally so affable a personage in provincial France, gave
me the cold shoulder. I turned out in the forlorn hope of finding a good Samaritan. Of course, to present a
letter of introduction under such circumstances, was quite out of the question, my errand would have
been the last hair to break the camel's back, final embarrassment of an already overdone hostess. But
night was at hand; the last train to Troyes, the nearest town, had gone, no other would pass through
Arcis-sur-Aube until the small hours of the morning. Unless I could procure a room, therefore, I should
be in the position of a homeless vagrant. Well, not to be dismayed, I set out making inquiries right and
left, to my astonishment being rebuffed rather surlily and with looks of suspicion. The fact is, during
these manoeuvres, a lady arriving at head-quarters alone is apt to be looked upon with no favourable eye.
Especially do people wonder what on earth can bring a foreigner to an out of the way country place at
such a time - she must surely be a spy, pickpocket or something worse!
After having vainly made inquiries to no purpose along the principal street, I turned into a grocer's shop
in a smaller thoroughfare; two young assistants were chatting without anything to do, and they looked so
good-natured that I entered and begged them to help me.
Very likely an English hobbledehoy similarly appealed to would have blushed, giggled, and got rid of the
stranger as quickly as possible; French youths of all ranks have rather more of the man of the world in
them. The elder of the lads became at once interested in my case, and manifested a keen desire to be
serviceable. Hailing a little girl from without, he bade her conduct me to a certain Mademoiselle D - -
who let rooms and might have one vacant. The little maid, fetching a companion to accompany us - here
also was a French trait; whatever is done, must be done sociably - took me to the address given; the
demoiselle in question was, however, not at home, but the concierge said that, another demoiselle living
near would probably be able to accommodate me, which she did. Before I proceed with my narrative,
however, I must mention the ill fortune that befell my useful little cicerone.
On taking leave I had given her half a franc, a modest recompense enough as I thought. The following
story would seem to show that the good people of Arcis have not yet become imbued with modern ideas
about money, also that they have a high notion of the value of truth. To my dismay I learnt next morning
that the poor little girl had been soundly slapped, her mother refusing to believe that she had come
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