"That's right!" said Bourdin, ensconcing himself behind his taller associate. "And who are you, I should like to know, who give yourself such airs?"
"Who is he? Why, my lodger, my king of lodgers, you ill-looking, half-starved, hungry hounds! you ill-taught, dirty fellows!" exclaimed Madame Pipelet, who, puffing and panting for breath, had at last reached the landing where they stood; her head, as usual, adorned with her Brutus wig, which, during the heat and bustle she hadexperienced in ascending the stairs, had got pushed somewhat awry, while in her hand she bore an earthen stewpan, filled with smoking-hot broth, which she was charitably conveying to the Morels.
"What the devil does this old hedgehog want?" cried Bourdin.
"If you dare make any of your saucy speeches about me," returne
