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Stories By Foreign Authors

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An Excerpt:  ""'Once there I would fall a-laughing, and would be ashamed of my crazy
fears. The only comfort I had was that nobody knew anything about it. Then
I would dispassionately remind myself that I did not believe in goblins,
witches, or ghosts, and that I had no reason whatever to be afraid of that
wretched woman driven from her home at such an hour by poverty, or some
crime, or accident, to whom I might better have offered help, if she
needed it, or given alms. Nevertheless, the pitiable scene would be gone
over again as often as a similar thing occurred--and remember that I was
twenty-four years old, that I had experienced a great many adventures by
night, and yet that I had never had the slightest difficulty of any sort
with such solitary women in the streets after midnight! But nothing of
what I have so far told you ever came to have any importance, since that
irrational fear always left me as soon as I reached home, or saw any one
else in the street, and I would scarcely recall it a few minutes
afterwards, any more than one would recall a stupid mistake which had no
result of any consequence.

"'Things were going on so, when, nearly three years ago (unhappily, I have
good reason for knowing the date, it was the night of November 15-16,
1857), I was coming home at three in the morning. As you remember, I was
living then in that little house in Jardines Street, near Montera Street."


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