Paul lowered his eyes at the word _foundling_, and his face assumed an expression of profound sadness; he released his hold on Jean's arm, and, stepping back to the wall, stood leaning against it without speaking a word. But Sans-Cravate, who knew that nothing wounded Paul so deeply as to be reminded that he had been abandoned by his parents, and who saw the sorrowful expression of his face, rose abruptly and shook his clenched fist under Jean Ficelle's nose, saying: "You're a miserable cur! and if your nose wasn't so turned-up already that I can see your brain, I'd turn it up a little more for you. You know that the poor fellow is unhappy because he knows nothing about his family; but it isn't any crime, and it's better to have no family at all than to come of low-lived stock! But it hurts him when anyone speaks of it; and you remind him of it on purpose! It was a mean, dirty trick! I have a good mind to thrash you. Come, try a little bout with me; I'll give you a good dust bath, to cool you off." Sans-Cravate had already seized Jean about the waist; but Paul hastened to intervene, and forced Sans-Cravate to release his hold. "I don't want you to fight my battles," he said. "When I choose to teach Jean a lesson, I can do it myself all right. A man is always strong when he is not afraid. When he called me a foundling, he said no more than the truth, and I have no right to thrash him for that. But let him beware how he insults Mademoiselle Elina, or makes such remarks as he made just now about dressmakers--for then he would have a chance to see what my arm weighs." Jean Ficelle eyed Paul contemptuously, and muttered, with a shrug: "Yes, he's about as strong as a flea; he can't carry a commode upstairs!" But a glance from Sans-Cravate made him change his tone on the instant, and he added, with an affectation of good humor: "But why does he throw my cards on the ground? if it amuses me to play _biribi_, ain't I at liberty to do it? _Vive la charte!_ When all's said and done, Sans-Cravate, you owe me three glasses of beer; are you going to pay them?" "With what, I wonder? I wouldn't ask anything better than to rinse my gullet, for I'm dried up with thirst; but I haven't a _monaco_!" Thereupon Jean Ficelle went up to Sans-Cravate, and whispered in his ear, with a glance at Paul: "Borrow a little tin of him; you're a friend of his, and friends always lend to each other. If I had any, it would be at your service; but I'm as strapped as you are." "Paul has no more than the rest of us," replied Sans-Cravate, in an undertone; "I saw him breakfasting this morning on an old dry crust and a glass of cocoa! When a man eats a meal like that, it means that he ain't lined with gold."