A broken fence opened a passage which seemed to lead through the heaps of rubbish from some buildings recently pulled down.

Two planks had been thrown across a large puddle of muddy water that barred the way.

She ended by venturing along them, turned to the left and found herself lost in the depths of a strange forest of old carts, standing on end with their shafts in the air, and of hovels in ruins, the wood-work of which was still standing.
Toward the back, stabbing through the half-light of sundown, a flame gleamed red.

The clamor of the hammers had ceased.

She was advancing carefully when a workman, his face blackened with coal-dust and wearing a goatee passed near her, casting a side-glance with his pale eyes.
"Sir," asked she, "it's here is it not that a boy named Etienne works?
He's my son." "Etienne, Etienne," repeated the workman in a hoarse voice as he twisted himself about.