Coming in from the Alléés de Morlaäs we find, as we approach the Place des Eçoles, an animated scene. The broad sidewalk is lined with rows of women selling vegetables, fruit, flowers, poultry and eggs. The haggling of the buyers and the gibing of the venders, though carried on in patois unintelligible to us, are expressed in tones and accompanied by gestures that translate them quite effectively; especially as not a market-day passes without a long recital from our Catherine, illustrating the greed of the peasants and her own superior finesse.
"How much do you want for this chicken?"
"Three francs."
"Keep your chicken for somebody see. I'll go to another."
"Stay! What will you give for it?"
"Two francs."
"Get along with you!"
As Catherine eyes the chicken which she secretly admires and openly abuses, another cook comes up and lays her hand on its comely breast. It is a decisive moment, but Catherine is equal to the emergency.
"Stand off there! I'm here first."