"Then shut the door,—shut the door."
"My dog and cart are there outside with the stuff."
"What do you bring me, double tripe (sheet lead)?"
"No, Father Micou."
"What is it, scrapings? but no, you're too downy now, you've left off work. Perhaps it is a bit of hard (iron)?"
"No, Daddy Micou, it's some flap (sheet copper). There must be, at least, a hundred and fifty pounds weight, as much as my dog could stagger along with."
"Go and fetch the flap, and let's weigh it."
"You must lend a hand, daddy, for I've hurt my arm."
And, at the recollection of his contest with his brother Martial, the ruffian's features expressed, at once, the resentment of hatred and savage joy, as if his vengeance were already satisfied.
"What's the matter with your arm, my man?"