She felt eagerly in the pocket of her underskirt, and produced several pieces of dirty, crumpled paper. As she unfolded one after another, she asked:
"A big chest, wasn't it?"
"Yes, very big."
"And quite new?"
"Quite new."
"And corded?"
"Yes, I can see it now."
"So can I, good gracious! It was the day when I sold the history of Leroi de Valines, the 1st of February."
"Yes, it was a Saturday; the next day was Sunday."
"That's it, that's it!—Saturday, February 1st. Well, I know that chest too! I met your wine merchant on the Place du Louvre, and he wasn't precisely enjoying himself: one of his creditors wanted to seize the chest, the wine, the whole kettle of fish! A little man, isn't he?—a scarecrow?"