"You're prospering!" "If I were you I should have it in from the cafe," old Bosc slowly announced.

He was sitting on a bench covered with green velvet, with his head against the wall.
But Simonne said that it was one's duty to consider Mme Bron's small perquisites.

She clapped her hands excitedly and devoured Fontan with her gaze while his long goatlike visage kept up a continuous twitching of eyes and nose and mouth.
"Oh, that Fontan!" she murmured.

"There's no one like him, no one like him!" The two greenroom doors stood wide open to the corridor leading to the wings.

And along the yellow wall, which was brightly lit up by a gas lamp out of view, passed a string of rapidly moving shadows--men in costume, women with shawls over their scant attire, in a word, the whole of the characters in the second act, who would shortly make their appearance as masqeuraders in the ball at the Boule Noire.