The huge merchant and cafe-owner occupies an intermediate and isolated place between principals and people.

His face is disposed in fat white tiers, like a Buddha's belly.
Monumentally motionless he says nothing at all, but he tranquilly spits all around him.

He radiates saliva.
And for this ceremony, which seems like an apotheosis, all the notables of our quarter are gathered together, as well as those of the other quarter, who seem different and are similar.
We elbow the ordinary types.

Apolline goes crabwise.

She is in new things, and has sprinkled Eau-de-Cologne on her skin; her eye is bright; her face well-polished; her ears richly adorned.