"I don't want you to fight my battles," he said. "When I choose to teach Jean a lesson, I can do it myself all right. A man is always strong when he is not afraid. When he called me a foundling, he said no more than the truth, and I have no right to thrash him for that. But let him beware how he insults Mademoiselle Elina, or makes such remarks as he made just now about dressmakers—for then he would have a chance to see what my arm weighs."
Jean Ficelle eyed Paul contemptuously, and muttered, with a shrug:
"Yes, he's about as strong as a flea; he can't carry a commode upstairs!"
But a glance from Sans-Cravate made him change his tone on the instant, and he added, with an affectation of good humor:
"But why does he throw my cards on the ground? if it amuses me to play biribi, ain't I at liberty to do it? Vive la charte! When all's said and done, Sans-Cravate, you owe me three glasses of beer; are you going to pay them?"
"With what, I wonder? I wouldn't ask anything better than to rinse my gullet, for I'm dried up with thirst; but I haven't a monaco!"
Thereupon Jean Ficelle went up to Sans-Cravate, and whispered in his ear, with a glance at Paul:
"Borrow a little tin of him; you're a friend of his, and friends always lend to each other. If I had any, it would be at your service; but I'm as strapped as you are."
"Paul has no more than the rest of us," replied Sans-Cravate, in an undertone; "I saw him breakfasting this morning on an old dry crust and a glass of cocoa! When a man eats a meal like that, it means that he ain't lined with gold."
"But what does he do with his money, then? for he earns more than we do; his luck is indecent. As all the women of the quarter think he's good-looking, they always choose him to do their errands; the windfalls pass us by, and are all for him. So he must have money, for he never spends any; he always refuses to play cards, or drink, or go to the wine shop. I tell you again, he's a mean cuss, who saves up his money, like the miser he is!"