One couple is exactly like another.

And to the belated pedestrian, who sees the vague groups gliding hither and thither, 'tis merely love passing, love guessed and scarce espied.

The lovers know they are safely concealed within their cloaks, they converse in undertones and make themselves quite at home; most frequently they do not converse at all, but walk along at random and in silence, content in their embrace.

The climate alone is to blame for having in the first instance prompted these young lovers to retire to secluded spots in the suburbs.

On fine summer nights one cannot walk round Plassans without coming across a hooded couple in every patch of shadow falling from the house walls.