On that day the water flowing from the dyer's under the entrance porch was a very pale apple green.

She smilingly stepped over it; to her the color was a pleasant omen.
The meeting with the landlord was to take place in the Boches' room.
Monsieur Marescot, a wealthy cutler of the Rue de la Paix, had at one time turned a grindstone through the streets.

He was now stated to be worth several millions.

He was a man of fifty-five, large and big-boned.
Even though he now wore a decoration in his button-hole, his huge hands were still those of a former workingman.

It was his joy to carry off the scissors and knives of his tenants, to sharpen them himself, for the fun of it.