The person thus challenged rummaged in the pockets of his old, much-patched and filthy garments, and after interminable fumblings and huntings, finished by extracting a certain number of silver pieces, which he counted over with the greatest care, finally he replied: "Seventeen francs, Mother Toulouche." Mother Toulouche showed her impatience: "It's details I want! How much for the coat? How much for the whole suit? I've got to know, I tell you! I've got to write it all down, and I've got to see how much I've to hand over to each of the owners of the duds!... Try to remember, Cranajour!" The individual who answered to this odd appellation reflected. After a silence, shrugging his shoulders, he replied: "I don't know. I can't make myself remember--not anyhow!... And it's a long time since I sold the goods!" Mother Toulouche shrugged in turn: "A long time!" she grumbled. "What a wretched job! Why, it's only two hours since--barely that!... It's true," she went on, with a pitying look at the shabby, down-at-heel fellow, who had spread out his seventeen francs on the table, "it's true that you're known not to have two ha'p'orths of memory, and that at the end of an hour you have forgotten what you've done!" "That's right enough," answered Cranajour. "Let's have done with it, then," cried Mother Toulouche. She held out a repulsive-looking specimen of old clothes: "Be off with you! Go and pawn this academician's cast-off! When the comrades catch a sight of this bit of stuff to the fore, they'll understand they can come without danger!... No cops about the store on the lookout, are there?" Mother Toulouche took the precaution to advance to the threshold of her store, cast a rapid glance around--not a suspicious person, nor a sign of one to be seen: "A good thing," muttered she, "but I was sure of it! Those police spies are going to give us some peace for a bit!... Likely the whole lot of them are on this Dollon business! Isn't it so, Cranajour?" As she retreated into her store again Mother Toulouche knocked against that individual, who had not budged: he had hung over his arm respectfully the miserable bit of stuff that had been styled an academician's robe: "Well, what are you waiting for?" asked she sharply. "Nothing...." "What are you going to do with that?" Cranajour seemed to reflect: "Haven't I told you," grumbled Mother Toulouche, "to go and stick it up outside?... Don't say you've gone and forgotten already!" "No, no!" protested Cranajour, hastening to obey orders. "What a specimen!" thought Mother Toulouche, whilst counting over the seventeen francs.