AT THE CHEVAL BLANC My journey, even at this distance of time, appears to me like an enchanted dream.

I observed, yet scarcely remembered, the scenes through which I passed, so divided was I between the novelty of travelling and the eagerness of anticipation.

Provided with my letters of introduction, the sum of one hundred guineas, English, and the enthusiasm of twenty years of age, I fancied myself endowed with an immortality of wealth and happiness.
The Brighton coach passed through our town once a week; so I started for Paris without having ever visited London, and took the route by Newhaven and Dieppe.

Having left home on Tuesday morning, I reached Rouen in the course of the next day but one.

At Rouen I stayed to dine and sleep, and so made my way to the _Cheval Blanc_, a grand hotel on the quay, where I was received by an aristocratic elderly waiter who sauntered out from a side office, surveyed me patronizingly, entered my name upon a card for a seat at the _table d'hote_, and, having rung a feeble little bell, sank exhausted upon a seat in the hall.
"To number seventeen, Marie," said this majestic personage, handing me over to a pretty little chambermaid who attended the summons.