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ON THE PONT ROYAL.
It would appear that John Turner had business south of the Seine, though his clients were few in the Faubourg St.Germain.For this placid British banker was known to be a good hater.

His father before him, it was said, had had dealings with the Bourbons, while many a great family of the Emigration would have lost more than the esteem of their fellows in their panic-stricken flight, had it not been that one cool-headed and calm man of business stayed at his post through the topsy-turvy days of the Terror, and did his duty by the clients whom he despised.
On quitting the Louvre, by the door facing the Palais Royal, Turner moved to the left.

To say that he walked would be to overstate the action of his little stout legs, which took so short a stride that his progress suggested wheels and some one pushing behind.

He turned to the left again, and ambled under the great arch, to take the path passing behind the Tuileries.
His stoutness was, in a sense, a safeguard in streets where the travelling Englishman, easily recognised, has not always found a welcome.