"You are going to get out of here."

"You are going to get out of here." The stranger turned round and replied gently, "Ah! You know?--" "Yes." "I was sent away from the other inn." "And you are to be turned out of this one." "Where would you have me go?" "Elsewhere." The man took his stick and his knapsack and departed. As he went out, some children who had followed him from the Cross of Colbas, and who seemed to be lying in wait for him, threw stones at him. He retraced his steps in anger, and threatened them with his stick: the children dispersed like a flock of birds. He passed before the prison. At the door hung an iron chain attached to a bell. He rang. The wicket opened. "Turnkey," said he, removing his cap politely, "will you have the kindness to admit me, and give me a lodging for the night?" A voice replied:-- "The prison is not an inn. Get yourself arrested, and you will be admitted." The wicket closed again. He entered a little street in which there were many gardens. Some of them are enclosed only by hedges,