Still, he was sorry for the man.

In any case, it was not his cue to interfere; and Luc was being punished according to his bringing up and to the standards familiar to him.

Medallion had never refused to speak to him, but he had done nothing more.

There was no reason why he should provoke the enmity of the parish unnecessarily; and up to this-point Pomfrette had shifted for himself after a fashion, if a hard fashion.
With a bitter laugh, Pomfrette turned to the little bar.
"Brandy," he said; "brandy, my Bourienne." The landlord shrugged his shoulder, and looked the other way.
"Brandy," he repeated.

Still there was no sign.
There was a wicked look in his face, from which the landlord shrank back-shrank so far that he carried himself among the others, and stood there, half frightened, half dumfounded.
Pomfrette pulled out a greasy dollar-bill from his pocket--the last he owned in the world--and threw it on the counter.