I gained my object, for after going a couple of hundred yards I saw
before me a single shanty such as I had seen before—with, however, the
difference that this was not one for living in, but merely a roof with
three walls open in front. From the evidences which the neighbourhood
exhibited I took it to be a place for sorting. Within it was an old
woman wrinkled and bent with age; I approached her to ask the way. She rose as I came close and I asked her my way. She immediately
commenced a conversation; and it occurred to me that here in the very
centre of the Kingdom of Dust was the place to gather details of the
history of Parisian rag-picking—particularly as I could do so from the
lips of one who looked like the oldest inhabitant. I began my inquiries, and the old woman gave me most interesting
answers—she had been one of the ceteuces who sat daily before the
guillotine and had taken an active part among the women who signalised
themselves by their violence in the revolution. While we were talking
she said suddenly: “But m’sieur must be tired standing,” and dusted a
rickety old stool for me to sit down. I hardly liked to do so for many
reasons; but the poor old woman was so civil that I did not like to run
the risk of hurting her by refusing, and moreover the conversation of
one who had been at the taking of the Bastille was so interesting that
I sat down and so our conversation went on. While we were talking an old man—older and more bent and wrinkled even
than the woman—appeared from behind the shanty. “Here is Pierre,” said
she. “M’sieur can hear stories now if he wishes, for Pierre was in
everything, from the Bastille to Waterloo.” The old man took another
stool at my request and we plunged into a sea of revolutionary
reminiscences. This old man, albeit clothed like a scarecrow, was like
any one of the six veterans. I was now sitting in the centre of the low hut with the woman on my
left hand and the man on my right, each of them being somewhat in front
of me. The place was full of all sorts of curious objects of lumber,
and of many things that I wished far away. In one corner was a heap of
rags which seemed to move from the number of vermin it contained, and
in the other a heap of bones whose odour was something shocking. Every
now and then, glancing at the heaps, I could see the gleaming eyes of
some of the rats which infested the place. These loathsome objects were
bad enough, but what looked even more dreadful was an old butcher’s axe
with an iron handle stained with clots of blood leaning up against the
wall on the right hand side. Still, these things did not give me much
concern. The talk of the two old people was so fascinating that I
stayed on and on, till the evening came and the dust heaps threw dark
shadows over the vales between them. After a time I began to grow uneasy. I could not tell how or why, but
somehow I did not feel satisfied. Uneasiness is an instinct and means
warning. The psychic faculties are often the sentries of the intellect,
and when they sound alarm the reason begins to act, although perhaps
not consciously. This was so with me. I began to bethink me where I was and by what
surrounded, and to wonder how I should fare in case I should be
attacked; and then the thought suddenly burst upon me, although without
any overt cause, that I was in danger. Prudence whispered: “Be still
and make no sign,” and so I was still and made no sign, for I knew that
four cunning eyes were on me. “Four eyes—if not more.” My God, what a
horrible thought! The whole shanty might be surrounded on three sides
with villains! I might be in the midst of a band of such desperadoes as
only half a century of periodic revolution can produce. With a sense of danger my intellect and observation quickened, and I
grew more watchful than was my wont. I noticed that the old woman’s
eyes were constantly wandering towards my hands. I looked at them too,
and saw the cause—my rings. On my left little finger I had a large
signet and on the right a good diamond. I thought that if there was any danger my first care was to avert
suspicion. Accordingly I began to work the conversation round to
rag-picking—to the drains—of the things found there; and so by easy
stages to jewels. Then, seizing a favourable opportunity, I asked the
old woman if she knew anything of such things. She answered that she
did, a little. I held out my right hand, and, showing her the diamond,
asked her what she thought of that. She answered that her eyes were
bad, and stooped over my hand. I said as nonchalantly as I could:
“Pardon me! You will see better thus!” and taking it off handed it to
her. An unholy light came into her withered old face, as she touched
it. She stole one glance at me swift and keen as a flash of lightning. She bent over the ring for a moment, her face quite concealed as though
examining it. The old man looked straight out of the front of the
shanty before him, at the same time fumbling in his pockets and
producing a screw of tobacco in a paper and a pipe, which he proceeded
to fill. I took advantage of the pause and the momentary rest from the
searching eyes on my face to look carefully round the place, now dim
and shadowy in the gloaming. There still lay all the heaps of varied
reeking foulness; there the terrible blood-stained axe leaning against
the wall in the right hand corner, and everywhere, despite the gloom,
the baleful glitter of the eyes of the rats. I could see them even
through some of the chinks of the boards at the back low down close to
the ground. But stay! these latter eyes seemed more than usually large
and bright and baleful! For an instant my heart stood still, and I felt in that whirling
condition of mind in which one feels a sort of spiritual drunkenness,
and as though the body is only maintained erect in that there is no
time for it to fall before recovery. Then, in another second, I was
calm—coldly calm, with all my energies in full vigour, with a
self-control which I felt to be perfect and with all my feeling and
instincts alert. Now I knew the full extent of my danger: I was watched and surrounded
by desperate people! I could not even guess at how many of them were
lying there on the ground behind the shanty, waiting for the moment to
strike. I knew that I was big and strong, and they knew it, too. They
knew also, as I did, that I was an Englishman and would make a fight
for it; and so we waited. I had, I felt, gained an advantage in the
last few seconds, for I knew my danger and understood the situation. Now, I thought, is the test of my courage—the enduring test: the
fighting test may come later! The old woman raised her head and said to me in a satisfied kind of
way:

“A very fine ring, indeed—a beautiful ring! Oh, me! I once had such
rings, plenty of them, and bracelets and earrings! Oh! for in those
fine days I led the town a dance! But they’ve forgotten me now! They’ve
forgotten me! They? Why they never heard of me!