of ironwork lowered from the carts to the pavement.  But on Sundays the factories do not work, and the district then falls into death-like silence.  In summer time there is but bright sunshine heating the pavement, in winter some icy snow-laden wind rushing down the lonely streets.  The population of Grenelle is said to be the worst of Paris, both the most vicious and the most wretched.  The neighborhood of the Ecole Militaire attracts thither a swarm of worthless women, who bring in their train all the scum of the populace.  In contrast to all this the gay bourgeois district of Passy rises up across the Seine; while the rich aristocratic quarters of the Invalides and the Faubourg St. Germain spread out close by.  Thus the Beauchene works on the quay, as their owner laughingly said, turned their back upon misery and looked towards all the prosperity and gayety of this world.

Mathieu was very partial to the avenues, planted with fine trees, which radiate from the Champ de Mars and the Esplanade des Invalides, supplying great gaps for air and sunlight.  But he was particularly fond of that long diversified Quai d’Orsay, which starts from the Rue du Bac in the very centre of the city, passes before the Palais Bourbon, crosses first the Esplanade des Invalides, and then the Champ de Mars, to end at the Boulevard de Grenelle, in the black factory region.  How majestically it spread out, what fine old leafy trees there were round that bend of the Seine from the State Tobacco Works to the garden of the Eiffel Tower!  The river winds along with sovereign gracefulness; the avenue stretches out under superb foliage.  You can really saunter there amid delicious quietude, instinct as it were with all the charm and power of Paris.

It was thither that Mathieu wished to take his wife and the little ones that Sunday.  But the distance was considerable, and some anxiety was felt respecting Rose’s little legs.  She was intrusted to Ambroise, who, although the youngest of the boys, was already energetic and determined.  These two opened the march; then came Blaise and Denis, the twins, the parents bringing up the rear.  Everything at first went remarkably well:  they strolled on slowly in the gay sunshine.  That beautiful winter afternoon was exquisitely pure and clear, and though it was very cold in the shade, all seemed golden and velvety in the stretches of bright light.  There were a great many people out of doors—­all the idle folks, clad in their Sunday best, whom the faintest sunshine draws in crowds to the promenades of Paris.  Little Rose, feeling warm and gay, drew herself up as if to show the people that she was a big girl.  She crossed the whole extent of the Champ de Mars without asking to be carried.  And her three brothers strode along making the frozen pavement resound beneath their steps.  Promenaders were ever turning round to watch them.  In other cities of Europe the sight of a young married couple preceded by four children would have excited no comment,