“What sort of work is this?” he said, walking defiantly up to the men—there were five of them—“what do you mean by breaking into the houses of honest citizens?”
“You had better break out of this one if you don't want to grill,” answered one of the ruffians; “we are going to fire it, par ordre de le Commune.”
The women had disappeared, and left their implements in the hands of the men.
“Oh! par ordre de le Commune!” echoed the sapeur; “then I've nothing to say; I hope they pay you well for the work?”
“Not over and above for such work as it is,” said one of the incendiaries, rolling a barrel into the concierge's lodge.
“How much?”
“Ten francs apiece.”
“Ten francs for burning a house down! Pshaw! you're fools for your pains!”
The sapeur shrugged his shoulders, and, turning on his heels, walked off. Suddenly, as if a bright thought struck him, he turned back, and faced them with his hands in his pockets.
“Suppose you got twenty for leaving it alone?”