columns, the gates burst open, the peristyle invaded; and then
scraggy arms suddenly appearing high aloft and planting a banner there.

At last he slowly went his way homewards again with his gaze fixed upon
the ground. But all at once a cooing sound made him look up, and he saw
that he was passing through the garden of the Tuileries. A number of
wood-pigeons, bridling their necks, were strutting over a lawn near by.
Florent leant for a moment against the tub of an orange-tree, and looked
at the grass and the pigeons steeped in sunshine. Right ahead under the
chestnut-trees all was black. The garden was wrapped in a warm silence,
broken only by the distant rumbling which came from behind the railings
of the Rue de Rivoli. The scent of all the greenery affected Florent,
reminding him of Madame Francois. However, a little girl ran past,
trundling a hoop, and alarmed the pigeons. They flew off, and settled in
a row on the arm of a marble statue of an antique wrestler standing
in the middle of the lawn, and once more, but with less vivacity, they
began to coo and bridle their necks.

As Florent was returning to the markets by way of the Rue Vauvilliers,
he heard Claude Lantier calling to him. The artist was going down into
the basement of the poultry pavilion. "Come with me!" he cried. "I'm
looking for that brute Marjolin."

Florent followed, glad to forget his thoughts and to defer his return
to the fish market for a little longer. Claude told him that his friend
Marjolin now had nothing further to wish for: he had become an utter
animal. Claude entertained an idea of making him pose on all-fours in
future. Whenever he lost his temper over some disappointing sketch he
came to spend whole hours in the idiot's company, never speaking, but
striving to catch his expression when he laughed.

"He'll be feeding his pigeons, I dare say," he said; "but unfortunately
I don't know whereabouts Monsieur Gavard's storeroom is."

They groped about the cellar. In the middle of it some water was
trickling from a couple of taps in the dim gloom. The storerooms here
are reserved for pigeons exclusively, and all along the trellising they
heard faint cooings, like the hushed notes of birds nestling under the
leaves when daylight is departing. Claude began to laugh as he heard it.

"It sounds as though all the lovers in Paris were embracing each other
inside here, doesn't it?" he exclaimed to his companion.

However, they could not find