He
had studied it carefully, and it did not, this dull afternoon in
September, hold his interest long; he sauntered on, not feeling strong
enough to light a cigarette. Decidedly, Rouen was become tiresome. He
would go back to Paris by the evening train--or to Dieppe, thence to
London, on the morning boat. Presently he found himself nearing the
Porte de la Grosse Horloge. Through its opening poured vivacious working
girls and men in blouse and cap, smoking, chattering, gesticulating. It
was all very animated, and the wanderer tried to enjoy the picture. Then
over against the crenellated wall, under the tablet bearing the quaint
inscription picked out in choice Latin, Ferval saw a tall girl. Her bare
head would not have marked her in a crowd where motley prevailed; it was
her pose that attracted him,--above all, her mediaeval face, with its
long, drooping nose which recalled some graven image of Jean Goujon. Her
skin was tanned; her hair, flame-coloured, was confined by a classic
fillet; her eyes, Oriental in fulness, were light blue--Ferval had
crossed to the apparition and noted these things.
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