oir stalls, of deal wood, have been
left unpainted.

The market--that is to say, a tiled roof supported by some twenty
posts--occupies of itself about half the public square of Yonville.
The town-hall, constructed "from the designs of a Paris architect," is
a sort of Greek temple that forms the corner next to the chemist's
shop. On the ground floor are three Ionic columns, and on the first
floor is a semicircular gallery, while the dome that crowns it is
occupied by a Gallic cock, resting one foot upon the "Charte" and
holding in the other the scales of Justice.

But that which most attracts the eye is, opposite the Lion d'Or inn,
the chemist's shop of Monsieur Homais. In the evening especially its
argand lamp is lighted up, and the red and green jars that embellish
his shop-front throw far across the street their two streams of color;
then across them, as if in Bengal lights, is seen the shadow of the
chemist leaning over his desk. His house from top to bottom is
placarded with inscriptions written in large hand, round hand, printed
hand: "Vichy, Seltzer, Barege waters, blood purifiers, Raspail patent
medicine, Arabian racahout, Darcet lozenges, Regnault paste, trusses,
baths, hygienic chocolate," etc. And the signboard, which takes up all
the breadth of the shop, bears, in gold letters, "Homais, Chemist."
Then, at the back of the shop, behind the great scales fixt to the
counter, the word "Laboratory" appears on a scroll above a glass door,
which about half-way up once more repeats "Homais" in gold letters on
a black ground.

Beyond this there is nothing to see at Yonville. The street--the only
one--a gunshot in length, and flanked by a few shops on each side,
stops short at the turn of the highroad. If it is left to the right
hand and the foot of the St. Jean hills followed, the cemetery is soon
reached.

At the time of the cholera, in order to enlarge this, a piece of wall
was pulled down, and three acres of land by its side purchased; but
all the new portion is almost tenantless; the tombs, as heretofore,
continue to crowd together toward the gate. The keeper, who is at once
grave-digger and church-beadle--thus making a double profit out of the
parish corpses--has taken advantage of the unused plot of ground to
plant potatoes there. From year to year, however, his small field
grows smaller and when there is an epidemic, he does not know whether
to rejoice at the deaths or regret the burials.

"You live on th