At first light, Baudet made his way through the sleeping streets from the inn towards the Old Port. By now, former strangers nodded and gave him a good morning smile, affording him a pleasant feeling that he was on home ground – Marseilles welcomed him to its bosom. The gentle giant was stirring – loaded boats left their moorings for new arrivals to glide into vacant berths and begin unloading their cargoes. Holds opened, hatches slid back, cranes strained, captains bawled out orders, laughter and coarse language filled the air – another day in the life of the Queen of the Mediterranean.
Ahead, he saw Criou at the arranged meeting place in front of the Saint Ferréol church on the Rue de la Fraternité. He stood talking to a man who was holding a horse steady by its harness, tethered to the
