hich they place at the corner of their
counter, and the passer-by can then distinguish what the depths of these
holes sheltering night in the daytime, contain. On this blackish line
of shop fronts, the windows of a cardboard-box maker are flaming: two
schist-lamps pierce the shadow with a couple of yellow flames. And, on
the other side of the arcade a candle, stuck in the middle of an argand
lamp glass, casts glistening stars into the box of imitation jewelry.
The dealer is dozing in her cupboard, with her hands hidden under her
shawl.

A few years back, opposite this dealer, stood a shop whose bottle-green
woodwork excreted damp by all its cracks. On the signboard, made of a
long narrow plank, figured, in black letters the word: MERCERY. And on
one of the panes of glass in the door was written, in red, the name of
a woman: _Therese Raquin_. To right and left were deep show cases, lined
with blue paper.

During the daytime the eye could only distinguish the display of goods,
in a soft, obscured light.

On one side were a few linen articles: crimped tulle caps at two and
three francs apiece, muslin sleeves and collars: then undervests,
stockings, socks, braces. Each article had grown yellow and crumpled,
and hung lamentably suspended from a wire hook. The window, from top to
bottom, was filled in this manner with whitish bits of clothing, which
took a lugubrious aspect in the transparent obscurity. The new caps, of
brighter whiteness, formed hollow spots on the blue paper covering the
shelves. And the coloured socks hanging on an iron rod, contributed
sombre notes to the livid and vague effacement of the muslin.

On the other side, in a narrower show case, were piled up large balls
of green wool, white cards of black buttons, boxes of all colours and
sizes, hair nets ornamented with steel beads, spread over rounds of
bluish paper, fasces of knitting needles, tapestry patterns, bobbins of
ribbon, along with a heap of soiled and faded articles, which doubtless
had been lying in the same place for five or six years. All the tints
had turned dirty grey in this cupboard, rotting with dust and damp.

In summer, towards noon, when the sun scorched the squares and streets
with its tawny rays, you could distinguish, behind the caps in the other
window, the pale, grave profile of a young woman. This profile issued
vaguely from the darkness reigning in the shop. To a low parched
forehead was attached a long, narrow, pointed no