"Forty. Jokin', ain't you? Now if it 'ad a' bin five or six, p'raps we might 'a managed some'ow!"
Guillaumin rapped on the table, and assumed a threatening air, which was rendered even more grotesque and terrifying by his great nose.
"You'd better take care we don't bring them along! I've an idea they'd manage to find something!"
The old man's face hardened. I again intervened.
"I tell you we'll pay. Now tell me the price of a chicken."
"Ain't got none!"
"What, not in your cellar?"
"Ain't got none."
"Will you take ten francs apiece?"