The picture was so ludicrous that Pomfrette laughed with a devilish humour, and flinging the pitcher at the bag, he walked away towards his own house.

Duclosse, pale and frightened, stepped from among the fragments of crockery, and with backward glances towards Pomfrette joined his comrade.
"Lime-burner," he said, sitting down on the bag of meal, and mechanically twisting tight the loose, leaking corner, "the devil's in that leper." "He was a good enough fellow once," answered Garotte, watching Pomfrette.
"I drank with him at five o'clock yesterday," said Duclosse philosophically.

"He was fit for any company then; now he's fit for none." Garotte looked wise.

"Mealman," said he, "it takes years to make folks love you; you can make them hate you in an hour.

La! La! it's easier to hate than to love.