masons were laying the third row of bricks; a brand-new building was arising. These masons were numerous, and worked quickly and skilfully; and it was a strange pleasure to watch the straight, even wall springing up out of the ground. When they had covered one row with mortar they laid on a second row, adjusting the bricks according to their dimensions, laying them now on the broad side, now on the narrow, and cutting off the corners to make them fit. They worked meditatively, and though the course of their meditation was evident enough, and their problem clear, still it gave an additional charm and interest to the work. I was looking at them with enjoyment when an authoritative voice at my elbow shouted:
"Look here, you. What's your name! Why don't you put this right?"
It was the voice of the gendarme, squeezing himself through the iron railings, which separated the asphalt platform from the workmen; he was pointing to a certain brick and insisting: "You with the beard! lay that brick properly. Don't you see, it's a half-brick?"
The mason with the beard, which was in places whitened with lime, turned round in silence—the gendarme's face was severe and imposing—in silence he followed the direction of the gen-darme's finger, took up the brick, trimmed it, and in silence put it back in its place. The gendarme gave me a severe look and went away; but the se-
