This species of shed was the ground floor in course of demolition. Iron

columns, painted red, and fixed into stone sockets at short distances

apart, supported the joists of the ceiling; facing the street, a huge

framework standing erect, and denoting the centre of the surrounding

paling, supported the great cross-beam of the first story, that is to

say, supported the whole house. In a corner were lying some masons'

tools, a heap of rubbish, and a large double ladder. A few straw-bottomed

chairs were scattered here and there. The damp ground served for the

flooring. By the side of a table, on which stood a candle in the midst

of medicine bottles, an old woman and a young girl of about eight years

old--the woman seated, the child squatting before a great basketful of

old linen--were making lint. The end of the room, which was lost in the

darkness, was carpeted with a litter of straw, on which three mattresses

had been thrown. The gurgling noise came from there.

"It is the ambulance," said the last-maker.

The old woman turned her head, and seeing us, shuddered convulsively,

and then, reassured probably by the blouse of the last-maker, she got up

and came towards us.

The last-maker whispered a few words in her ear. She answered, "I have

seen nobody."

Then she added, "But what makes me uneasy is that my husband has not yet

come back. They have done nothing but fire muskets the whole evening."

484

The History of a Crime