yards, and then, making a turn to the left again, felt certain that I
had, at any rate, avoided the danger of being surrounded.

But not of pursuit, for on came the rabble after me, steady, dogged,
relentless, and still in grim silence.

In the greater darkness the mounds seemed now to be somewhat smaller
than before, although--for the night was closing--they looked bigger in
proportion. I was now well ahead of my pursuers, so I made a dart up the
mound in front.

Oh joy of joys! I was close to the edge of this inferno of dustheaps.
Away behind me the red light of Paris was in the sky, and towering up
behind rose the heights of Montmarte--a dim light, with here and there
brilliant points like stars.

Restored to vigour in a moment, I ran over the few remaining mounds of
decreasing size, and found myself on the level land beyond. Even then,
however, the prospect was not inviting. All before me was dark and
dismal, and I had evidently come on one of those dank, low-lying waste
places which are found here and there in the neighbourhood of great
cities. Places of waste and desolation, where the space is required for
the ultimate agglomeration of all that is noxious, and the ground is so
poor as to create no desire of occupancy even in the lowest squatter.
With eyes accustomed to the gloom of the evening, and away now from the
shadows of those dreadful dustheaps, I could see much more easily than I
could a little while ago. It might have been, of course, that the glare
in the sky of the lights of Paris, though the city was some miles away,
was reflected here. Howsoever it was, I saw well enough to take bearings
for certainly some little distance around me.