"Well, what is the matter, Catherine?"
"Ah! Monsieur it is ... My God! My God!"
"What?"
"It is the cholera ... Ah! Monsieur, I have the cramp!"
"The cholera is in Paris?"
"Yes, monsieur, it is, the scoundrel!"
"Diable! Are you sure what you say is true?"
"A man has just died in the rue Chauchat, monsieur. He had only been dead a quarter of an hour, and he is already as black as a nigger!"
"How did they treat him?"
"By rubbing, monsieur; but it was no use ... Black, monsieur—quite black!"