latter, and strove to make a bit of a toilet, fearing lest those black
rags of his should proclaim aloud whence he had come. He was seated in
the middle of the bench, by the side of some wandering vagabonds who
had settled themselves there while waiting for the sunrise. The
neighbourhood of the markets is a favourite spot with vagrants in the
small hours of the morning. However, two constables, still in night
uniform, with cloaks and _kepis_, paced up and down the footway side by
side, their hands resting behind their backs; and every time they passed
the bench they glanced at the game which they scented there. Florent
felt sure that they recognised him, and were consulting together about
arresting him. At this thought his anguish of mind became extreme. He
felt a wild desire to get up and run away; but he did not dare to do
so, and was quite at a loss as to how he might take himself off. The
repeated glances of the constables, their cold, deliberate scrutiny
caused him the keenest torture. At length he rose from the bench, making
a great effort to restrain himself from rushing off as quickly as his
long legs could carry him; and succeeded in walking quietly away, though
his shoulders quivered in the fear he felt of suddenly feeling the rough
hands of the constables clutching at his collar from behind.

He had now only one thought, one desire, which was to get away from
the markets as quickly as possible. He would wait and make his
investigations later on, when the footways should be clear. The three
streets which met here--the Rue Montmartre, Rue Montorgueil, and Rue
Turbigo--filled him with uneasiness. They were blocked by vehicles of
all kinds, and their footways were crowded with vegetables. Florent went
straight along as far as the Rue Pierre Lescot, but there the cress and
the potato markets seemed to him insuperable obstacles. So he resolved
to take the Rue Rambuteau. On reaching the Boulevard de Sebastopol,
however, he came across such a block of vans and carts and waggonettes