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In the midst of the great silence, and in the desert of the avenue, the market gardeners' carts climbed towards Paris, with the rhythmic jolts of their wheels, whose echoes beat against the facades of the houses, asleep on both sides, behind the confused lines of elms. A cart of cabbages and a cart of peas, at the Pont de Neuilly, had joined the eight carts of turnips and carrots which descended from Nanterre; and the horses went all alone, head down, with their continuous and lazy pace, which the climb slowed down even more.