His speeches kept up a constant conflagration in the tavern, where his furious looks secured him unlimited credit.

Moreover, he only worked when he had been unable to get a five-franc piece out of Silvere or a comrade.

He was no longer "Monsieur" Macquart, the clean-shaven workman, who wore his Sunday clothes every day and played the gentleman; he again became the big slovenly devil who had once speculated on his rags.

Felicite did not dare to go to market now that he was so often coming there to sell his baskets.

He once had a violent quarrel with her there.