He determined to buy some small thing,--a mirror, perhaps, which was always useful,--and he approached the hawker, who for his part wearily flicked the gravel with his stick and drew a curve here and a line there until, as M.Chateaudoux stopped before the bench, there lay sketched at his feet the rude semblance of a crown.

The stick swept over it the next instant and left the gravel smooth.
But M.Chateaudoux had seen, and his heart fluttered and sank.

For here were plots, possibly dangers, most certainly trepidations.

He turned his back as though he had seen nothing, and constraining himself to a slow pace walked towards the door of the villa.

But the hawker was now at his side, whining in execrable German and a strong French accent the remarkable value of his wares.