Seven parallel streets ending at its walls, compose what is
called Keravel, and are filled by the mistresses of jailers and
convicts. They are old frame houses, crowded together, with every door
and window closed tight. No sound issues from them, nobody is seen
coming out, and there are no lights in the windows; at the end of each
street is a lamp-post which the wind sways from side to side, thus
making its long yellow rays oscillate on the sidewalk. The rest of the
quarter is in absolute darkness. In the moonlight, these silent houses
with their uneven roofs projected fantastic glimmerings.
When do they open? At unknown hours, at the most silent time of the
darkest nights. Then comes the jailer who has slipped away from his
watch, or the convict who has managed to escape from the prison, though
sometimes they arrive together, aiding and abetting each other; then,
when daylight dawns, the jailer turns his head away and nobody is the
wiser.
In the sailor's district, on the contrary, everything is open and
above-board. The disreputable houses are full of noise and light; there
is dancing and shouting and fighting. On the ground floors, in the low
rooms, women in filmy attire sit on the benches that line the
white-washed walls lighted by an oil lamp; others, in the doorway,
beckon to you, and their animated faces stand out in relief on the
background of the lighted resort, from which issues the sound of
clinking glasses and coarse caresses.
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