tumultuous city appeared amidst a haze of dancing golden
dust. The general awakening had spread, from the first start of the
market gardeners snoring in their cloaks, to the brisk rolling of the
food-laden railway drays. And the whole city was opening its iron gates,
the footways were humming, the pavilions roaring with life. Shouts and
cries of all kinds rent the air; it was as though the strain, which
Florent had heard gathering force in the gloom ever since four in the
morning, had now attained its fullest volume. To the right and left, on
all sides indeed, the sharp cries accompanying the auction sales sounded
shrilly like flutes amidst the sonorous bass roar of the crowd. It was
the fish, the butter, the poultry, and the meat being sold.

The pealing of bells passed through the air, imparting a quiver to the
buzzing of the opening markets. Around Florent the sun was setting the
vegetables aflame. He no longer perceived any of those soft water-colour
tints which had predominated in the pale light of early morning. The
swelling hearts of the lettuces were now gleaming brightly, the scales
of greenery showed forth with wondrous vigour, the carrots glowed
blood-red, the turnips shone as if incandescent in the triumphant
radiance of the sun.

On Florent's left some waggons were discharging fresh loads of cabbages.
He turned his eyes, and away in the distance saw carts yet streaming out
of the Rue Turbigo. The tide was still and ever rising. He had felt
it about his ankles, then on a level with his stomach, and now it was
threatening to drown him altogether. Blinded and submerged, his ears
buzzing, his stomach overpowered by all that he had seen, he asked for
mercy; and wild grief took possession of him at the thought of dying
there of starvation in the very heart of glutted Paris, amidst the
effulgent awakening of her markets. Big hot tears started from his eyes.

Walking on, he had now reached one of the larger alleys. Two women, one
short and old, the other tall and withered, passed him, talking together
as they made their way towards the pavilions.

"So you've come to do your marketing, Mademoiselle Saget?" said the tall
withered woman.

"Well, yes, Madame Lecoeur, if you can give it such a name as marketing.
I'm a lone woman, you know, and live on next to nothing. I should have
liked a small cauliflower, but everything is so dear. How is butter
selling to-day?"

"At thirty-four sous. I have some which is firs