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posted himself on the watch behind a heap of rubbish, with
the patient rage of a pointer.
The hackney-coach, which regulated all its movements
on his, had, in its turn, halted on the quay above him, close
to the parapet. The coachman, foreseeing a prolonged wait,
encased his horses’ muzzles in the bag of oats which is
damp at the bottom, and which is so familiar to Parisians,
to whom, be it said in parenthesis, the Government some-
times applies it. The rare passers-by on the Pont de Jena
turned their heads, before they pursued their way, to take
a momentary glance at these two motionless items in the
landscape, the man on the shore, the carriage on the quay.