heaps were so high that people seemed to be walking between walls
of bundles and bunches. Only their heads slightly overtopped these
ramparts, and passed along showing whitely or blackly according to the
colour of their hats or caps; whilst the huge swinging baskets, carried
aloft on a level with the greenery, looked like osier boats floating on
a stagnant, mossy lake.

Florent stumbled against a thousand obstacles--against porters taking up
their burdens, and saleswomen disputing in rough tones. He slipped over
the thick bed of waste leaves and stumps which covered the footway, and
was almost suffocated by the powerful odour of crushed verdure. At last
he halted in a sort of confused stupor, and surrendered to the pushing
of some and the insults of others; and then he became a mere waif, a
piece of wreckage tossed about on the surface of that surging sea.

He was fast losing all self-respect, and would willingly have begged.
The recollection of his foolish pride during the night exasperated him.
If he had accepted Madame Francois's charity, if he had not felt such
idiotic fear of Claude, he would not now have been stranded there
groaning in the midst of these cabbages. And he was especially angry
with himself for not having questioned the artist when they were in the
Rue Pirouette. Now, alas! he was alone and deserted, liable to die in
the streets like a homeless dog.

For the last time he raised his eyes and looked at the markets. At
present they were glittering in the sun. A broad ray was pouring through
the covered road from the far end, cleaving the massy pavilions with an
arcade of light, whilst fiery beams rained down upon the far expanse of
roofs. The huge iron framework grew less distinct, assumed a bluey hue,
became nothing but a shadowy silhouette outlined against the flaming