« In the still of the night and the desert of the avenue, the farmers’ carts jolted up to Paris along the façades of silent houses standing in a straight line behind the dim shapes of the elm-trees. Their even-rolling wheels echoed in the streets. A cabbage-loaded cart and a wagon of peas had joined the eight carts of turnips and carrots coming down from Nanterre. The horses knew their way and were walking slowly at a lazy and commander pace. Their heads hanged low and their movements were slowed by the steep road. Above, on the piles of vegetables, the carriers, covered with their black-and-grey-pin-striped capes lay flat on their stomachs, dosing, the reins around their wrists. |