sprang upon a stool, where, with his mouth twisted spasmodically and
his hair streaming behind him, he could force nothing more than
unintelligible hisses from his parched throat. And in the meantime, up
above, the collector of municipal dues, a little old man, muffled in
a collar of imitation astrachan, remained with nothing but his nose
showing under his black velvet skullcap. And the tall, dark-complexioned
female clerk, with eyes shining calmly in her face, which had been
slightly reddened by the cold, sat on her high wooden chair, quietly
writing, apparently unruffled by the continuous rattle which came from
the hunchback below her.

"That fellow Logre is wonderful," muttered Monsieur Verlaque with a
smile. "He is the best crier in the markets. I believe he could make
people buy boot soles in the belief they were fish!"

Then he and Florent went back into the pavilion. As they again passed
the spot where the fresh water fish was being sold by auction, and where
the bidding seemed much quieter, Monsieur Verlaque explained that French
river fishing was in a bad way.[*] The crier here, a fair, sorry-looking
fellow, who scarcely moved his arms, was disposing of some lots of eels
and crawfish in a monotonous voice, while the assistants fished fresh
supplies out of the stone basins with their short-handled nets.

[*] M. Zola refers, of course, to the earlier years of the
Second Empire. Under the present republican Government,
which has largely fostered fish culture, matters have
considerably improved.--Translator.

However, the crowd round the salesmen's desks was still increasing.
Monsieur Verlaque played his part as Florent's instructor in the most