"Nicholas is not sold!" cried Calabash, unrolling a piece of muslin de laine.
"No," answered the pirate, shaking out a package of foulards; "no, I have paid my expenses."
"Levantine! that will sell like bread," said the widow, putting her hand in the box. "The Bras-Rouge's fence, who lives in the Rue du Temple, will buy the stuffs, and Daddy Micou, who keeps furnished lodgings in the Quartier Saint Honore, will arrange for the copper."
"Amandine!" whispered Francois to his little sister; "what a pretty cravat this would make."
"Yes, and it would make a very fine scarf," answered the child, with admiration. "I must say you had some luck, getting on board the barge," said Calabash; "look here, famous shawls; three real silk! Do look, mother?"
"Burette will give at least five hundred francs for the whole," said the widow, after a close examination.
"Then it must be worth at least fifteen hundred francs," said Nicholas, "but a receiver is as bad as a thief! Bah! I do not know how to cheat. I shall be soft enough this time again to do just as Burette wishes, and Micou also; but he is a friend."
"Never mind; the seller of old iron is a robber, just like the rest, but these rascally receivers know one has need of them," said Calabash, trying on one of the shawls, "and they abuse it."
"There's nothing more," said Nicholas, reaching the bottom of the box.
"Now all must be repacked," said the widow.