Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part IV - I
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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 241
" Cresson de fontaine !
La santé du corps !
Quatre liards la botte !
Quatre liards la botte !
"
He went down on the left side of the avenue, halting
before every door ; but everywhere the porters’ wives shook
their heads, for the younger and stronger ones had stolen
a march on the old man, and had already supplied the
necessary requirements for the day. He reached Porte
Mailot and gazed down the avenue which stretched before
him, apparently endlessly, down towards the Seine. He
took off his black cotton cap and with the sleeve of his
blue blouse wiped the perspiration off his forehead. Should
he turn round and walk up on the right side, or should he
go to Paris to try his luck there? the wonderful luck to
earn the few pence by virtue of which he could keep up
sufficient strength to push his barrow along when to-
morrow had dawned ? Should he invest his last shilling
in the payment of the toll and go on to meet the unknown
fate aAvaiting him ? He took the risk, paid the octroi and
trudged along the Avenue de la Grande Armée.
The sun had risen higher in the sky, and the pavements
were still warm from the previous day ; the gay town
smelled like the close, fetid atmosphere of the bedroom,
which streamed through the open windows and hung
heavily in the still air. The sunbeams heated the dust
which rose in clouds from the carpets beaten against the
doorsteps ; showy advertisements flashed from privies and
news-stalls, and a suffocating smell of ammonia penetrated
through the half-open doors ; cigar ends, tobacco, manure,
orange skins, celery stalks, pieces of paper from forgotten
refuse heaps were carried away by the rushing stream which
gushed from the main and swept everything towards the
gratings of the gutter.
The old man cried his wares, but carts and omnibuses
R
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