Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
e days exposed to the reflection of the sun upon the water.
That face was an emblem of long resignation, of the patience of a fisherman and his quiet ways. The man had a voice without harshness, kind lips, evidently no ambition, and something frail and puny about him. Any other sort of countenance would, at that moment, have jarred upon us.
"Where shall you sell your fish?"
"In the town."
"How much will they pay you for that lobster?"
"And the crab?"
"Why so much difference between a lobster and a crab?"
"Monsieur, the crab is much more delicate eating. Besides, it's as malicious as a monkey, and it seldom lets you catch it."
"Will you let us buy the two for a hundred sous?" asked Pauline.
The man seemed petrified.
"You shall not have it!" I said to her, laughing. "I'll pay ten francs; we should count the emotions in."
"Very well," she said, "then I'll pay ten francs, two sous."
"Ten francs, ten sous."
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