"When I say give," I corrected myself, "I mean sell." "'Ow many of 'em is there?" "About forty." The peasant threw up his arms like a clockwork figure. "Forty. Jokin', ain't you? Now if it 'ad a' bin five or six, p'raps we might 'a managed some'ow!" Guillaumin rapped on the table, and assumed a threatening air, which was rendered even more grotesque and terrifying by his great nose. "You'd better take care we don't bring them along! I've an idea they'd manage to find something!" The old man's face hardened. I again intervened. "I tell you we'll pay. Now tell me the price of a chicken." "Ain't got none!" "What, not in your cellar?" "Ain't got none." "Will you take ten francs apiece?" "Ten francs?" He rubbed his hands. "That's talkin',' that is!" Guillaumin exclaimed: "Five francs, not a halfpenny more. It's pure robbery!" I continued: "I should want several!" "How many?" I looked at the others interrogatively. "Eight or ten--a dozen if you've got them!" "A dozen chickens at ten francs? That's a hundred and twenty francs?" "Yes." "I'll just have a look, but I won't promise nothing!" he said as he went off. When he had gone out, without bothering about the girl who was leaning against the chimney-piece, and watching us slyly, Guillaumin slated me. Ten francs apiece. He never heard of such a thing. Was I crazy? A hundred and twenty francs! No. It couldn't be allowed. I should want the cash some day or other. I didn't realise.... The old chap was sickening. It would serve him right if we cleared him out of everything and left him an order payable at the end of the war. So that was settled? What? But I shook my head, and stuck to it. I had spent a relatively infinitesimal sum up till now. The chance was too tempting! The peasant reappeared. He brought the poultry back with him, tied by their legs. They were squalling hard and were certainly very fine birds. His forehead was wrinkled; he must be afraid we might give him the slip and be off with the booty. His face cleared when I laid the purse on the table. But when I pulled a hundred-franc note out of my pocket, the old fellow waved it aside, and pointed to the purse. "None o' that now! You've got that amount in solid gold!" "Take this note?" I retorted. "Give me gold, gold!" "Why on earth should I?" I had not foreseen this pretext for cavilling when I had flattered myself on avoiding a scene. I refused to give in. The old chap kicked against the pricks. Paper-money? Wot good was that to any one nowadays, you wouldn't get a hunk of bread for it! He obviously distrusted me. I was on the point of losing my temper. Guillaumin angrily dubbed the old man a robber and a blooming Bosche. The latter got annoyed and made as if to take back his poultry. Bouillon kept his eyes fixed on me, and was only waiting for a sign to hurl himself upon the old man.