But he liked neither the glance nor the action, nor the furtive, curious looks of the women; and as quickly as he could he filled his pot and carried it away.
He had splashed his fingers, and the cold wind quickly numbed them.

At the Tertasse Gate, where the view commanding the river valley opened before him, he was glad to set down the vessel and change hands.

On his left, the watch at the Porte Neuve, the gate in the ramparts which admitted from the country to the Corraterie--as the Tertasse admitted from the Corraterie to the town proper--was being changed, and he paused an instant, gazing on the scene.

Then remembering himself, and the need of haste, he snatched up his jar and, turning to the right, hurried to the steps before the Royaumes' door, swung up them and, with his eyes on the windows, set down his burden.
He knocked gently, sure that she would not keep him waiting.

But she did not come at once; and by-and-by, seeing that a woman at an open door a little farther down the Corraterie was watching him with scowling eyes--and that strange look, half fear, half loathing, which he was growing to know--he knocked more loudly, and stamped to warm his feet.
Still, to his astonishment, she did not come; he waited, and waited, and she did not come.