By Jacques Yonnet, Christine Donougher
In 'Paris Noir', Yonnet tells us approximately many of the darker quarters of Paris's Left financial institution, focused at the position Mauberge and the rue Mouffetard, as he skilled it.
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Additional info for Paris Noir: The Secret History of a City
The rats had started in on the exposed softer parts: the neck‚ the cheeks and the fat of his palms. We’d seen it coming for a long time. No one was surprised. You can still make out on the front of his shop: Coffee – Wines – Liqueurs – Hotel with Every Comfort. Every comfort? What a joke! Rue de Bièvre‚ number 1A‚ right by the river. Two and a half storeys – in other words‚ you’d have to be a dwarf or amputated at the knees to able to stand upright under the sloping roof. From the outside it looks at least as respectable as the other hovels in the street.
But hunger‚ tiredness. And boredom. Out of a dark corner‚ three pairs of brown eyes look daggers at us. There are some wide-awake people over there. The smell of hashish comes from that direction. The rodent stares at Théophile and me. Fanfan delivers some spiel. As the patter goes on‚ the overfed rat-face grows wary. He signals to the pair of peepers furthest away: a tall guy comes over. A Frenchman‚ very dark‚ very bitter. Neither old nor bowed. But for ever down on his luck. You can tell straight away.
At the same time he would recite in an undertone set phrases known only to himself. The pain would cease immediately. And flesh and skin would regenerate with a speed that astounded numerous doctors. From Maintenon to Chartres‚ and even as far afield as Mans‚ Thibaudat is still remembered by many people. The day came when Master Thibaudat sensed that his powers were failing. He feared that he no longer had the vital energy he needed to be able to do his job. His only son‚ Honoré‚ was a now grown man: for his eighteenth birthday he’d been given a new bicycle and a pair of long trousers.