This establishment
was not on the right, but on the left-hand side of the road, a
perfect mire through which M. Fortunat and his companion were
obliged to cross. Their eyes having become accustomed to the
darkness, they could discern sundry details as they approached the
building. The ground floor comprised two shops, one of which was
closed, but the other was still open, and a faint light gleamed
through the soiled red curtains. Over the frontage appeared the
shop-keeper's name, Vantrasson, while on either side, in smaller
letters, were the words: "Groceries and Provisions--Foreign and
French Wines." Everything about this den denoted abject poverty
and low debauchery.
M. Fortunat certainly did not recoil, but before entering the shop
he was not sorry to have an opportunity to reconnoitre. He
approached cautiously, and peered through the window at a place
where a rent in the curtain allowed him some view of the interior.
Behind the counter a woman who looked some fifty years of age was
seated, mending a soiled dress by the light of a smoking lamp.
She was short and very stout. She seemed literally weighed down,
and puffed out by an unwholesome and unnatural mass of superfluous
flesh; and she was as white as if her veins had been filled with
water, instead of blood. Her hanging cheeks, her receding
forehead, and her thin lips, imparted an alarming expression of
wickedness and cunning to her countenance.
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