e hurt my arm."

And, at the recollection of his contest with his brother Martial, the
ruffian's features expressed, at once, the resentment of hatred and
savage joy, as if his vengeance were already satisfied.

"What's the matter with your arm, my man?"

"Nothing,--only a sprain."

"You must heat an iron in the fire, and plunge it red-hot into the
water, then put your arm in the water as hot as you can bear it. It is
an iron-dealer's remedy, but none the worse for that."

"Thank ye, Father Micou."

"Go and fetch the flap, and I'll come and help you, idle-bones."

At twice the copper was brought out of the cart, drawn by an enormous
dog, and conveyed into the shop.

"That cart of yours is a good idea," said the worthy Micou, as he
adjusted the wooden frames of an enormous pair of scales that hung from
a beam in the ceiling.

"Yes; when I've anything to bring, I put my dog and cart into the punt,
and harness them as we come along. A hackney-coach might, perhaps, tell
a tale, but my dog never chatters."

"And they're all pretty well at home,--eh?" inquired the receiver,
weighing the copper; "mother and sister, both pretty bobbish?"

"Yes, Father Micou."

"And the little uns?"

"Yes, the little uns, too. And your nephew, Andre, where is he?"

"Don't mention him; he was out on a spree yesterday. Barbillon and
Gros-Boiteux brought him back this morning. He is out for a walk now
towards the General Post-office in the Rue St. Jacques Rousseau. And
your brother, Martial, is he just such a rum un as ever?"

"_Ma foi!_ I don't know."

"Don't know?"

"No," replied Nicholas, assuming an indifferent air; "we have seen
nothing of him for the last two days. Perhaps he's gone poaching in the
woods again; unless his boat, which was very, very old, has sunk in the
river, with him in it."

"At which you would not be dreadfully affected, you bad lot, for you
can't bear your brother, I know."

"True; we have strange likes and dislikes. How many pounds of metal d'ye
make?"

"You're right to a hair, just a hundred and fifty pounds, my lad."

"And you owe me--"

"Just thirty francs."

"Thirty francs! when copper is twenty sous a pound? Thirty francs!"

"Say thirty-five francs, and there's an end of the matter, or go to the
devil with you! you, and your copper, and your dog, and your cart."

"But, Father Micou, you are really chiselling me down; that's not the
right thing by no means."

"If you'll tell me how