However, Adolphe’s look made him reflect, and then he recalled having several times walked up the Place de l’Ordson, and when in front of the Institute he changed his mind and retraced his steps. He accounted for this rather by his absent-mindedness than by anything unusual. He recalled that he had never passed through the Rue Mazarine or crossed the Pont-Neuf. Neither had he crossed the Petit Pont. He had always turned at the corner of the Rue Ville du Temple, near the house with the grated windows.
“Why,” Adolphe asked, “can’t you pass these places?”
“I think it is because the paving stones are red; and I dislike that color.”
“You remember the Place de Grere?”
“Why, yes. It was there that the pillory and scaffold were erected. The wheel was placed there on execution days in front of the Rue Vanniere. There was the old coal harbor. I never passed that place without counselling my comrades to avoid the wheel. However, I will wager not one profited by it.”
“Nor you either,” said Adolphe. “It was there that you suffered the final torment. It was there that you were racked and expired by the tortures of the wheel.”