penthouse coping of tiles, and on the beam, in red letters, were the
words, "Vergniaud, dairyman." To the right of this inscription were
some eggs, to the left a cow, all painted in white. The gate was open,
and no doubt remained open all day. Beyond a good-sized yard there was
a house facing the gate, if indeed the name of house may be applied to
one of the hovels built in the neighborhood of Paris, which are like
nothing else, not even the most wretched dwellings in the country, of
which they have all the poverty without their poetry.

Indeed, in the midst of the fields, even a hovel may have a certain
grace derived from the pure air, the verdure, the open country--a
hill, a serpentine road, vineyards, quickset hedges, moss-grown thatch
and rural implements; but poverty in Paris gains dignity only by
horror. Though recently built, this house seemed ready to fall into
ruins. None of its materials had found a legitimate use; they had been
collected from the various demolitions which are going on every day in
Paris. On a shutter made of the boards of a shop-sign Derville read
the words, "Fancy Goods." The windows were all mismatched and
grotesquely placed. The ground floor, which seemed to be the habitable
part, was on one side raised above the soil, and on the other sunk in
the rising ground. Between the gate and the house lay a puddle full of
stable litter, into which flowed the rain-water and house waste. The
back wall of this frail construction, which seemed rather more solidly
built than the rest, supported a row of barred hutches, where rabbits
bred their numerous families. To the right of the gate was the
cowhouse, with a loft above for fodder; it communicated with the house
through the dairy. To the left was a poultry yard, with a stable and
pig-styes, the roofs finished, like that of the house, with rough deal
boards nailed so as to overlap, and shabbily thatched with rushes.