She paused presently to examine a pile of garbage in front of a house. But the dogs had been there before her,—there was nothing to eat there.
These piles of garbage awaited the tour of the carts; they began to appear at an early hour in the morning, and within an hour had been picked over by rag-pickers, dogs, and vagrants until absolutely nothing was left that could be by any possibility utilized by these early investigators. Here and there two or three dogs contested the spoils of a promising pile, to separate with watchful amity to gnaw individual bones.
As it was a principal highway from the Porte de Charenton to the town, the piles of refuse had been pretty thoroughly overhauled by the dogs and human scum that infested the barrier.
Finally, the girl stopped as a stout woman appeared at a grille with a paper of kitchen refuse which she was about to throw into the street.
They looked at each other steadily,—the child with eager, hungry eyes; the woman with resentment.
"There is nothing here for you," rasped the latter, retaining her hold upon the folded parcel as she advanced to the curb and glanced up and down the street.
The child, who had unconsciously carried her rag-picker's hook, stood waiting in the middle of the road.
"Don't you hear me?" repeated the woman, threateningly. "Be off with you!"
"It is a public road," said the little one.
"You beggar——"