It had to be placed at the edge of the roof, close to the gutter-pipe; there was an abrupt slant there, and the gaping void of the street opened beneath.

The zinc-worker, just as though in his own home, wearing his list-shoes, advanced, dragging his feet, and whistling the air, "Oh! the little lambs." Arrived in front of the opening, he let himself down, and then, supporting himself with one knee against the masonry of a chimney-stack, remained half-way out over the pavement below.

One of his legs dangled.

When he leant back to call that young viper, Zidore, he held on to a corner of the masonry, on account of the street beneath him.
"You confounded dawdler! Give me the irons! It's no use looking up in the air, you skinny beggar! The larks won't tumble into your mouth already cooked!" But Zidore did not hurry himself.

He was interested in the neighboring roofs, and in a cloud of smoke which rose from the other side of Paris, close to Grenelle; it was very likely a fire.