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point formed by the front of the Dallemagne shop, one per-
ceived in the distance, beyond the canal, in the street which
mounts the slopes of Belleville at the culminating point
of the rise, a strange wall reaching to the second story of
the house fronts, a sort of hyphen between the houses on
the right and the houses on the left, as though the street
had folded back on itself its loftiest wall in order to close
itself abruptly. This wall was built of paving-stones. It was
straight, correct, cold, perpendicular, levelled with the
square, laid out by rule and line. Cement was lacking, of
course, but, as in the case of certain Roman walls, with-
out interfering with its rigid architecture. The entablature
was mathematically parallel with the base. From distance
to distance, one could distinguish on the gray surface, al-
most invisible loopholes which resembled black threads.
These loopholes were separated from each other by equal
spaces. The street was deserted as far as the eye could reach.
All windows and doors were closed. In the background rose
this barrier, which made a blind thoroughfare of the street,
a motionless and tranquil wall; no one was visible, nothing
was audible; not a cry, not a sound, not a breath. A sepul-
chre.
The dazzling sun of June inundated this terrible thing
with light.
It was the barricade of the Faubourg of the Temple.
As soon as one arrived on the spot, and caught sight of
it, it was impossible, even for the boldest, not to become
thoughtful before this mysterious apparition. It was ad-
justed, jointed, imbricated, rectilinear, symmetrical and