"How much did he win?"
"Well, to-night, three or four francs; he never loses."
"True; and don't you know there are three hundred and sixty-five days a year? At that price his gains are the value of a farm."
"Ah! what hands we had to-night!"
"Here you are at home, monsieur and madame, how lucky you are, while we have half the town to cross!"
"I don't pity you; you could afford a carriage, and dispense with the fatigue of going on foot."
"Ah, monsieur! we have a daughter to marry, which takes off one wheel, and the support of our son in Paris carries off another."
"You persist in making a magistrate of him?"
"What else can be done with a young man? Besides, there's no shame in serving the king."
Sometimes a discussion on ciders and flax, always couched in the same terms, and returning at the same time of year, was continued on the homeward way. If any observer of human customs had lived in this street, he would have known the months and seasons by simply overhearing the conversations.