“I want it,� she remarked briskly; “I will pay a good price for it—for my cousin. He is apprenticed to the blacksmith behind the Garden of the Récollets. I will look at it now—at once—Petit Bossu.�
The cobbler started, but controlled himself, though la Louve had her foot on the ladder. She could be swift when she pleased, and she could hobble.
“It is locked to-day,� he said coolly, “and I shall not rent it now.�
She grinned, with an evil look.
“What have you got there, mon chéri?� she demanded, shaking her cane at him with sinister pleasantry.
“The devil,� replied le Bossu, sitting down to his bench and taking up a shoe and beginning to stitch.
“Or his wife—which?� la Louve asked jocosely.
She was satisfied now that the trap was fastened, and it was not always wise to offend the cobbler. She returned to the shop with a dissatisfied face.
“You have no hospitality,� she said, “you dog of a cobbler—I will come on Wednesday again for the sabots.�
“As you please,� he retorted indifferently, stitching away.