He then pointed to the identical black and white Cotentine cow.
"Four hundred francs!" said Françoise. "Thank you for nothing."
"Four hundred francs for you, my little dear!" said he, tapping her jocularly on the back.
She fired up, however, and returned his tap, angry and resentfully.
"Just you let me alone, will you? I don't play with men."
He made merrier still at this, and turned to Lise, who had remained serious and rather pale.
"And you? Will you let me have a hand in it? I wager I'll get it for three hundred. Will you bet five francs?"
"All right; if you like to have a try, you may."
Rose and Fanny nodded approval. They knew this ferocious fellow of old; a stubborn bargainer he was, an impudent liar and swindler, selling things at three times their value, and getting everything for a mere song. So the women let him go to the fore with Jean, while they hung back in the rear, so that he might not seem to belong to their party.
The crowd was growing denser around the cattle. The groups of loungers were leaving the sunny central space for the side avenues, where they strolled continually to and fro; the blue of their blouses darkened by the shadow of the lime-trees, and their ruddy countenances tinged with green by the reflection of the swaying patches of leaves. However, no one was as yet making purchases; not a sale had taken place, although the market had been open for more than an hour. The purchasers and vendors were taking time for consideration, and were warily scrutinising each other askance. In front of the cows there were now more people sauntering along and making prolonged halts. Overhead, the sound of a riot was borne past on the wings of the warm breeze. It was caused by two horses, tied side by side, who were rearing, biting each other, neighing furiously, and pawing the pavement with their hoofs. There was a fright, and some women fled, while quiet was restored by a shower of blows from a whip, crackling like a discharge of firearms, and accompanied by oaths. Then in the clearance made by the panic, a flock of pigeons alighted on the ground, and hurried along picking oats from the dung.