Some repairs had recently been done; the face had been tarred afresh, as
well as the ribs and the knee which protruded from the canvas. The feet
hung out below.

Just underneath, in the grass, were two shoes, which snow and rain had
rendered shapeless. These shoes had fallen from the dead man.

The barefooted child looked at the shoes.

The wind, which had become more and more restless, was now and then
interrupted by those pauses which foretell the approach of a storm. For
the last few minutes it had altogether ceased to blow. The corpse no
longer stirred; the chain was as motionless as a plumb line.

Like all newcomers into life, and taking into account the peculiar
influences of his fate, the child no doubt felt within him that
awakening of ideas characteristic of early years, which endeavours to
open the brain, and which resembles the pecking of the young bird in the
egg. But all that there was in his little consciousness just then was
resolved into stupor. Excess of sensation has the effect of too much
oil, and ends by putting out thought. A man would have put himself
questions; the child put himself none--he only looked.

The tar gave the face a wet appearance; drops of pitch, congealed in
what had once been the eyes, produced the effect of tears. However,
thanks to the pitch, the ravage of death, if not annulled, was visibly
slackened and reduced to the least possible decay. That which was before
the child was a thing of which care was taken: the man was evidently
precious. They had not cared to keep him alive, but they cared to keep
him dead.