nts like a dove's; while Marjolin bent down to look at
the street still wrapped in gloom, with his hands clutching hold of
the leads like the feet of a wood-pigeon. When they descended to earth
again, joyful from their excursion in the fresh air, they would remark
to one another that they were coming back from the country.

It was in the tripe market that they had made the acquaintance of Claude
Lantier. They went there every day, impelled thereto by an animal taste
for blood, the cruel instinct of urchins who find amusement in the sight
of severed heads. A ruddy stream flowed along the gutters round the
pavilion; they dipped the tips of their shoes in it, and dammed it up
with leaves, so as to form large pools of blood. They took a strong
interest in the arrival of the loads of offal in carts which always
smelt offensively, despite all the drenchings of water they got; they
watched the unloading of the bundles of sheep's trotters, which were
piled up on the ground like filthy paving-stones, of the huge stiffened
tongues, bleeding at their torn roots, and of the massive bell-shaped
bullocks' hearts. But the spectacle which, above all others, made
them quiver with delight was that of the big dripping hampers, full of
sheep's heads, with greasy horns and black muzzles, and strips of woolly
skin dangling from bleeding flesh. The sight of these conjured up in
their minds the idea of some guillotine casting into the baskets the
heads of countless victims.

They followed the baskets into the depths of the cellar, watching them
glide down the rails laid over the steps, and listening to the rasping
noise which the casters of these osier waggons made in their descent.
Down below there was a scene of exquisite horror. They entered into a
charnel-house atmosphere, and walked along through murky puddles, amidst
which every now and then purple eyes seem to be glistening. At times
the soles of their boots stuck to the ground, at others they splashed
through the horrible mire, anxious and yet delighted. The gas jets
burned low, like blinking, bloodshot eyes. Near the water-taps, in the
pale light falling through the gratings, they came upon the blocks; and
there they remained in rapture watching the tripe men, who, in aprons
stiffened by gory splashings, broke the sheep's heads one after another
with a blow of their mallets. They lingered there for hours, waiting
till all the baskets were empty, fascinated by the crackling of the
bon