| 709 | 710 | 711 | 712 | 713 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
the Ruelle Vauvert in Paris were thus ill-famed. It was said that
during the night the stumps of those trees changed into great hands, and
caught hold of the passers-by.
By instinct the Southwark folks shunned, as we have already mentioned,
this alley between a prison and a churchyard. Formerly it had been
barricaded during the night by an iron chain. Very uselessly; because
the strongest chain which guarded the street was the terror it inspired.
Ursus entered it resolutely.
What intention possessed him? None.
He came into the alley to seek intelligence.
Was he going to knock at the gate of the jail? Certainly not. Such an
expedient, at once fearful and vain, had no place in his brain. To
attempt to introduce himself to demand an explanation. What folly!
Prisons do not open to those who wish to enter, any more than to those
who desire to get out. Their hinges never turn except by law. Ursus knew
this. Why, then, had he come there? To see. To see what? Nothing. Who
can tell? Even to be opposite the gate through which Gwynplaine had
disappeared was something.
Sometimes the blackest and most rugged of walls whispers, and some light
escapes through a cranny. A vague glimmering is now and then to be
perceived through solid and sombre piles of building. Even to examine
711
Page
Quick Jump
|