One day, Felicite, desiring to put an end to it, called to "that man," as she styled him with a disdainful curl on her lip.

"That man" was in the act of calling her a foul name in the middle of the street, where he stood with one of his friends, even more ragged than himself.

They were both drunk.
"Come, they want us in there," said Antoine to his companion in a jeering tone.
But Felicite drew back, muttering: "It's you alone we wish to speak to." "Bah!" the young man replied, "my friend's a decent fellow.

You needn't mind him hearing.

He'll be my witness." The witness sank heavily on a chair.