The spokesman ignored him.
“Well, pay fifteen francs and we have seen nothing.”
“Impossible.”
“Then back to Sion and the gendarmerie.”
“Very well, en route.”
The pair scowled and turned aside to whisper together. The tall one continued, “My comrade says, as you are a pauvre diable on foot—five francs.”
“Five francs for two bunches of grapes, comme ça?” I gasped holding them out.
“Ach! Ein, unglücklicher Kerl,” urged the dwarf. “Say three francs.”
“No!” I cried, “C’en est trop. Two bunches, like that? I have here two francs—”
The leader shook his head, glanced at his mate, and took several steps in the direction of Sion.