n the left. Here the three floors,
each with two shutterless windows, having little white curtains closely
drawn, seemed wrapped in sleep; but, up above, a light could be seen
flitting behind the curtains of a tiny gable casement. However, the
sight of the shop beneath the pent-house seemed to fill Florent with the
deepest emotion. It was kept by a dealer in cooked vegetables, and was
just being opened. At its far end some metal pans were glittering, while
on several earthen ones in the window there was a display of cooked
spinach and endive, reduced to a paste and arranged in conical mounds
from which customers were served with shovel-like carvers of white
metal, only the handles of which were visible. This sight seemed to
rivet Florent to the ground with surprise. He evidently could not
recognize the place. He read the name of the shopkeeper, Godeboeuf,
which was painted on a red sign board up above, and remained quite
overcome by consternation. His arms dangling beside him, he began to
examine the cooked spinach, with the despairing air of one on whom some
supreme misfortune falls.

However, the gable casement was now opened, and a little old woman
leaned out of it, and looked first at the sky and then at the markets in
the distance.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Saget is an early riser," exclaimed Claude, who had
just raised his head. And, turning to his companion, he added: "I once
had an aunt living in that house. It's a regular hive of tittle-tattle!
Ah, the Mehudins are stirring now, I see. There's a light on the second
floor."

Florent would have liked to question his companion, but the latter's
long discoloured overcoat give him a disquieting appearance. So without
a word Florent followed him, whilst he went on talking about the
Mehudins. These Mehudins were fish-girls, it seemed; the older one was a
magnificent creature, while the younger one, who sold fresh-water
fish, reminded Claude of one of Murillo's virgins, whenever he saw her
standing with her fair face amidst her carps and eels.

From this Claude went on to remark with asperity that Murillo painted
like an ignoramus. But all at once he stopped short in the middle of the
street.

"Come!" he exclaimed, "tell me where it is that you want to go."

"I don't want to go anywhere just at present," replied Florent in
confusion. "Let's go wherever you like."

Just as they were leaving the Rue Pirouette, some one called to Claude
from a wine shop at the corner of