Julien had the strength of a bull. When very young, in the forest near his native village, he amused himself helping the woodcutters, carrying tree trunks on his young shoulders. So, he carried little Colombel as easily as a feather. It was a bird on his back, that corpse of a shrimp. He hardly felt it,--he experienced an unholy joy in finding it so light, so thin, so absolutely nothing. Little Colombel would never sneer at him again, passing under his windows while he played the flute. He would never again humiliate him with his witticisms in the town. With a movement of the shoulder, he hoisted the body higher up, and, with set teeth, hastened his steps. The town was dark. Yet, there was light in Quatre-Femmes Square, in Captain Pidoux's window. Doubtless, the captain was not feeling well; his large profile could be seen passing back and forth behind the curtains. Julien, anxious, slunk in the shadow of the houses. Suddenly, a slight cough froze him. He hid in a doorway. He recognized the wife of M. Savournin taking the air at her window. It seemed like fatality. Ordinarily, at that hour, Quatre-Femmes Square slept soundly. Fortunately, Madame Savournin soon returned to the side of M. Savournin, whose snores could be heard on the pavement. Julien quickly crossed the square and breathed more freely in the narrowness of Beau-Soleil Street. There, the houses were so near together that the light of the stars did not penetrate the shadowy depths. As soon as he found himself thus sheltered, an irresistible desire to run sent him forward in a furious gallop. It was dangerous and stupid,--he knew it; but he still felt behind him the clear and empty space of Quatre-Femmes Square, with the windows of Madame Savournin and the captain lighted like two great eyes that watched him. His shoes made such a noise on the stones that he thought himself followed. Suddenly, he halted. He had heard, thirty yards away, the voices of the officers who patronized the table d'hôte of the blond widow. They must have been making merry over a punch, in honor of the exchange of one of their comrades. The young man told himself that if they came up the street, he was lost. There was no side street for him to turn into, and he would not have time to go back. He listened to the tread of their boots and the jingling of their swords with an anxiety that almost strangled him. For a moment, he could not have told whether they were approaching or going in the other direction. But the noises gradually grew fainter. He waited, then went on softly. At last, he reached the city gate. He passed through, but the sudden widening out of the country terrified him. There was a blue haze over the earth; a fresh breeze stirred; and it seemed to him that an immense crowd awaited him and breathed in his face.