The entrance to this public house, which is also a sort of an inn, is by two doors.

The entrance to this public house, which is also a sort of an inn, is by two doors. One opens on the street, the other upon a small yard filled with manure. The traveller dare not enter by the street door. He slipped into the yard, halted again, then raised the latch timidly and opened the door. "Who goes there?" said the master. "Some one who wants supper and bed." "Good. We furnish supper and bed here." He entered. All the men who were drinking turned round. The lamp illuminated him on one side, the firelight on the other. They examined him for some time while he was taking off his knapsack. The host said to him, "There is the fire. The supper is cooking in the pot. Come and warm yourself, comrade." He approached and seated himself near the hearth. He stretched out his feet, which were exhausted with fatigue, to the fire; a fine odor was emitted by the pot. All that could be distinguished of his face, beneath his cap, which was well pulled down, assumed a vague appearance of comfort,