"No; I'll make the beak decide; I will tell him. Imagine that, Daddy
Micou—"
"Good, good!" cried the receiver, seeing, with as much fear as anger,
Nicholas was disposed to abuse the position which their dealings gave him;
"I consent—I will replenish your stock of provisions when they are
exhausted."
"It is just—nothing but just. Neither must you forget to send some coffee to my mother and Calabash, who are at Saint Lazare; they used to take their cup every morning—they will feel the want of it."
"Still more? But do you mean to ruin me, lad?"
"As you please, old Micou; let us speak no more about it. I will ask the big-wig if—"
"Agreed, then, for the coffee," said the receiver, interrupting him. "But may the devil take you! cursed be the day I knew you!"
"My old man, as for me, it is just the contrary. At this moment, I am delighted to know you. I venerate you as my foster-father."
"I hope that you have nothing more to order?" answered Micou, with bitterness.
"Yes! tell my mother and sister that, though I trembled when I was arrested, I tremble no more, and that I am now as bold as both of them."
"I will tell them. Is that all?"