Some still had their pipes, which had gone out between their teeth.

Four masons poked their white faces out of the windows of a cab which they had hired between them, and on the roof of which their mortar-troughs rocked to and fro.

House-painters were swinging their pots; a zinc-worker was returning laden with a long ladder, with which he almost poked people's eyes out; whilst a belated plumber, with his box on his back, played the tune of "The Good King Dagobert" on his little trumpet.

Ah! the sad music, a fitting accompaniment to the tread of the flock, the tread of the weary beasts of burden.
Suddenly on raising her eyes she noticed the old Hotel Boncoeur in front of her.

After being an all-night cafe, which the police had closed down, the little house was now abandoned; the shutters were covered with posters, the lantern was broken, and the whole building was rotting and crumbling away from top to bottom, with its smudgy claret-colored paint, quite moldy.