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By Root 1428 0

merchants, were the cooked-meat stalls. Every morning small covered wagons looking like boxes, zinc-lined and vented, stopped at the doors of large kitchens and gathered a jumble of leftovers from embassies, ministries, and restaurants. Then it was sorted out in a basement. At about nine in the morning platters were put on display, prettily garnished and trimmed and selling for three to five sous each. There were bits of meat, trimmings of game, heads and tails of fish, charcuterie right through to dessert, hardly touched pieces of cake, and other almost whole candies. The starving, part-time workers and women shivering with fever would line up. Sometimes the street children would harass them, calling out to these pale, elderly people, who nervously glanced around, hoping that no one would see them there.

Mademoiselle Saget crept over to a stand that claimed its leftovers came exclusively from the Tuileries. One day the woman had talked her into a slice of lamb, claiming that it came straight from the plate of the emperor himself. This slice of leg of lamb, eaten with considerable pride, still appealed to the old woman's vanity. She tried to stay hidden so she could reenter the market to further browse without ever buying anything. Her approach was to get into a fight with one merchant and go to the next to calm down, working the district so that she managed to go to every stall and shop. She acted as though she were a big spender, but in fact she never bought anything, hoping to cajole vendors into little gifts; if that failed completely, she would actually spend money, but only on table scraps.

On this particular evening only one tall elderly man was at the stall selling leftovers. He was examining a plate of mixed fish and meat. But Mademoiselle Saget was more interested in a plate of cold fried food. She bargained the saleswoman down to two sous and the fried food, too, disappeared into the bag. Then other people arrived and bent down to examine the food. It had a nauseating smell of greasy sinks left over from washing.

“Come back tomorrow,” the woman said to Mademoiselle Saget. “I'll put aside something nice for you. There's a big dinner at the Tuileries tonight.”

Mademoiselle Saget promised to come, and then, as she turned around, she saw Gavard, who had been listening and watching her. She turned bright red, hunched her thin shoulders, and left without showing that she had seen him. He followed her for an instant, then shrugged it off, muttering that the nastiness of that old magpie no longer surprised him and he was not in the least amazed to see that she ate that poisonous garbage they belched up from the Tuileries.

The next day a rumor was circulating in Les Halles. Madame Lecœur and La Sarriette were supposedly honoring their vows to be discreet. But Mademoiselle Saget had been outstandingly sly this time, holding her tongue and letting the other two spread the story about Florent. At first it was a shortened version, just a few simple phrases that were whispered. Then a variety of versions began to spread, each one a little longer. The legend grew, and Florent appeared in the role of the bogeyman. He had killed ten gendarmes at the barricade on rue Grenéta. He had returned home on a private ship and had slaughtered every living soul on the high seas. Ever since his return to Paris he had been seen roaming the streets at night with suspicious-looking men who clearly followed his orders.

From that point, the imaginations of the people of Les Halles had wings, and an array of the most fantastic things was fantasized—a band of smugglers in the heart of Paris and an organized crime ring that ran all the thefts in Les Halles. The Quenu-Gradelles were pitied when people enviously referred to their inheritance. It was especially the inheritance that fascinated them. It was generally stated that Florent had returned to claim his share of the treasure. But since it was problematic to explain why this had not happened, it was assumed that he was waiting for his opportunity to abscond with the whole thing. Surely,