"Not much water about, is there?"
"That's so, old 'un.... If I'd known, it's boats I'd have taken to!"
"Bah! Your shoes are big enough. That's not saying it's weather for a Christian to be out in!"
"Don't you grumble, old 'un! The more it comes down cats and dogs, the fewer stumps will be stirring out doors!... But a comrade or two will be on the prowl, eh?"
"Right-o, old bird!... Keep a lookout!... Sure he'll come this way?"
"You bet your nut he will!... He got my bit of a scrawl this morning...."
"What then?"
"Shut up! Shut up! Folks coming!"
The night was inky black. Rain fell with sudden violence, threshed and driven by icy gusts of wind. The hour was late: the rue Raffet deserted save for the two men who had ventured out into the tempestuous darkness. They advanced with difficulty, side by side, speaking low. Rough customers to deal with. Their faces were emaciated from excessive drinking: their eyes gleamed, their voices were hoarse: a brutal pair! But their movements were souple and lively: they walked with that ungainly swagger affected by the light-fingered gentry and the criminals of the underworld of Paris.