A few paces beyond the last market garden stood a tavern, a big tavern, which had always aroused in him a feeling of aversion, even of fear, when he walked by it with his father.
There was always a crowd there, always shouting, laughter and abuse, hideous hoarse singing and often fighting.

Drunken and horrible-looking figures were hanging about the tavern.

He used to cling close to his father, trembling all over when he met them.

Near the tavern the road became a dusty track, the dust of which was always black.

It was a winding road, and about a hundred paces further on, it turned to the right to the graveyard.