r bore a
special aspect. Since four o'clock in the afternoon the pawnbroking
establishments and the shops of the second hand clothes dealers and
booksellers had been encumbered by a noisy crowd, who, later in the
evening, took the ham and beef shops, cook shops, and grocers by
assault. The shopmen, even if they had had a hundred arms, like
Briareus, would not have sufficed to serve the customers who struggled
with one another for provisions. At the baker's they formed a string as
in times of dearth. The wine shop keepers got rid of the produce of
three vintages, and a clever statistician would have found it difficult
to reckon up the number of knuckles of ham and of sausages which were
sold at the famous shop of Borel, in the Rue Dauphine. In this one
evening Daddy Cretaine, nicknamed Petit-Pain, exhausted eighteen
editions of his cakes. All night long sounds of rejoicing broke out from
the lodging houses, the windows of which were brilliantly lit up, and an
atmosphere of revelry filled the district.

The old festival of Christmas Eve was being celebrated.

That evening, towards ten o'clock, Marcel and Rodolphe were proceeding
homeward somewhat sadly. Passing up the Rue Dauphine they noticed a
great crowd in the shop of a provision dealer, and halted a moment
before the window. Tantalized by the sight of the toothsome gastronomic
products, the two Bohemians resembled, during this contemplation, that
person in a Spanish romance who caused hams to shrink only by looking at
them.

"That is called a truffled turkey," said Marcel, pointing to a splendid
bird, showing through its rosy and transparent skin the Perigordian
tubercles with which it was stuffed. "I have seen impious folk eat it
without first going down on their knees before it," added the painter,
casting upon the turkey looks capable of roasting it.

"And what do you think of that modest leg of salt marsh mutton?" asked
Rodolphe. "What fine coloring! One might think it was just unhooked from
that butcher's shop in one of Jordaen's pictures. Such a leg of mutton
is the favorite dish of the gods, and of my godmother Madame
Chandelier."

"Look at those fish!" resumed Marcel, pointing to some trout. "They are
the most expert swimmers of the aquatic race. Those little creatures,
without any appearance of pretension, could, however, make a fortune by
the exhibition of their skill; fancy, they can swim up a perpendicular
waterfall as easily as we should accept an