as a higher and lower caste in
misery, for the least fortunate vendors of this section had seats, not
at the tables, but on the floors, whence they were offering frogs strung
on sticks with their four legs distended.

Business was just beginning in the Fishmarket. The customers were coming
in, and mysterious signals were flying back and forth among the stalls
mixed with strange words from the jargon of the fish-mongers. The
inspectors were outside! As fast as possible false scales vanished under
aprons or petticoats. Meanwhile, old and grimy knives were slitting the
silvery bellies of the fish, the guts falling hap-hazard under tables or
counters. An occasional dog would come running by, sniffing at the
offals lying around and with a snort of disgust passing on toward the
neighboring porticos, where the butchers were holding forth. The
fish-women who had been playfully twitting each other an hour before in
their _tartanas_ or at the customs house now sat watching each other,
whenever a marketer came along, with hostile jealousy. An atmosphere of
struggle, of relentless competition pervaded the ill-smelling, reeking
environment. The women kept calling off their fish in shrill, piercing
tones, or beating on their dirty scales to attract the attention of some
possible purchaser. Smiles and quaint greetings of endearment would
welcome the housewife as she came up; but if she found prices too high
and passed on, a deluge of filthy epithet would follow after her, and
the insolent ridicule would be taken up by the whole crew of vendors,
instinctively standing together against the buyer.

_Tia_ Picores, towering with the majesty of a battle-scarred whale in
her tall armchair, sat twitching her wrinkly mustached lips and
frequently changing position to get the full warmth of the brazier she
kept daily burning at her feet till full summer-time. As a veteran of
the market, she had her regular trade and did not try overmuch to
attract new customers. Her delight it was to take the lead in spitting
curses upon the grumbling townswomen who went in person to do their
shopping with their maids; and her drawling voice always had the last
word in the disputes that went on. Her hair-raising obscenity and the
apothegms from her philosophy of shame, which she got off with the
solemnity of an oracle, were the principal sources of mirth throughout
the portico. The stall across the aisle in front of her belonged to
Dolores, who worked with her