Minks saw the big humped shoulders of La Citadelle, the
tapering church spire, the trees in the orchard of the Pension.
Cudrefin, smoking a cigar at the door of his grocery shop, recognised
them and waved his hand. A moment later Gygi lifted his peaked hat and
called 'bon soir, bonne nuit,' just as though Rogers had never gone
away at all. Michaud, the carpenter, shouted his welcome as he
strolled towards the Post Office farther down to post a letter, and
then the motor stopped with a jerk outside the courtyard where the
fountain sang and gurgled in its big stone basin. Minks saw the plane
tree. He glanced up at the ridged backbone of the building. What a
portentous looking erection it was. It seemed to have no windows. He
wondered where the famous Den was. The roof overlapped like a giant
hood, casting a deep shadow upon the cobbled yard. Overhead the stars
shone faintly.
Instantly a troop of figures shot from the shadow and surrounded them.
There was a babel of laughter, exclamations, questions. Minks thought
the stars had fallen. Children and constellations were mingled all
together, it seemed. Both were too numerous to count. All were rushing
with the sun towards Hercules at a dizzy speed.
'And this is my friend, Mr. Minks,' he heard repeated from time to
time, feeling his hand seized and shaken before he knew what he was
about.
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