to be Madame Robine. She appeared to be an old lady of very genteel
appearance, with her hair arranged in corkscrew curls; but of this he
could not be quite certain. No one knew why they had taken up their
abode amidst all the uproar of a business neighbourhood; for the husband
did nothing at all, spending his days no one knew how and living on no
one knew what, though he made his appearance every evening as though he
were tired but delighted with some excursion into the highest regions of
politics.

"Well, have you read the speech from the throne?" asked Gavard, taking
up a newspaper that was lying on the table.

Robine shrugged his shoulders. Just at that moment, however, the door
of the glazed partition clattered noisily, and a hunchback made his
appearance. Florent at once recognised the deformed crier of the fish
market, though his hands were now washed and he was neatly dressed, with
his neck encircled by a great red muffler, one end of which hung down
over his hump like the skirt of a Venetian cloak.

"Ah, here's Logre!" exclaimed the poultry dealer. "Now we shall hear
what he thinks about the speech from the throne."

Logre, however, was apparently furious. To begin with he almost broke
the pegs off in hanging up his hat and muffler. Then he threw himself
violently into a chair, and brought his fist down on the table, while
tossing away the newspaper.

"Do you think I read their fearful lies?" he cried.

Then he gave vent to the anger raging within him. "Did ever anyone