Here are dealers in toys, cardboard boxes, second-hand books.

The articles displayed in their windows are covered with dust, and owing to the prevailing darkness, can only be perceived indistinctly.

The shop fronts, formed of small panes of glass, streak the goods with a peculiar greenish reflex.

Beyond, behind the display in the windows, the dim interiors resemble a number of lugubrious cavities animated by fantastic forms.
To the right, along the whole length of the arcade, extends a wall against which the shopkeepers opposite have stuck some small cupboards.
Objects without a name, goods forgotten for twenty years, are spread out there on thin shelves painted a horrible brown colour.

A dealer in imitation jewelry, has set up shop in one of these cupboards, and there sells fifteen sous rings, delicately set out on a cushion of blue velvet at the bottom of a mahogany box.
Above the glazed cupboards, ascends the roughly plastered black wall, looking as if covered with leprosy, and all seamed with defacements.
The Arcade of the Pont Neuf is not a place for a stroll.