The crowds that surged through the street hurrying for home and fireside
after the day's work were impatient.

"Don't block the way, Johnny Crapaud!" called a girl with a shawl over
her head; and with the combined shove and push of those behind, the
sabot-shod young man was shouldered into the street.

There he stood dazed and bereft, with the sailor's bag on his back.

"Where do you wish to go?" asked a gendarme, not unkindly.

"Back to Gruchy," came the answer.

And the young man went into the diligence office and asked when the next
stage started.

It did not go until the following morning. He would have to stay
somewhere all night.

The policeman outside the door directed him to a modest tavern.

Next morning things looked a little better. The sun had come out and the
air was crisp. The crowds in the street did not look quite so cold and
mean.

After hunger had been satisfied, "Johnny Crapaud" concluded to stay long
enough to catch a glimpse of the Louvre, that marvel of marvels! The
Louvre had been glowingly described to him by his old drawing-master at
Cherbourg. Visions of the Louvre had been in his mind for weeks and