And yet they lived there, those eighteen men and one woman.  Were they happy?  Certainly not.  Hopeless?  Not that, either; for they occasionally got a little besides their scanty pay, and then they stole occasionally, fish, lumps of coal, things without any value to those who lost them, but of great value to the poor, beggarly thieves.

The eighteen kept the woman, and there was no jealousy on her account.  She had no special favorite among them.

She was a fat woman of about forty, chubby faced and puffy, and of whom Daddy La Bretagne, who was one of the eighteen, used to say:  “She does us honor.”

If she had had a favorite among them, Daddy La Bretagne would certainly have had the greatest right to that privilege, for although he was one of the most crippled among them, as he was partially paralyzed in his legs, he showed himself skillful and strong-armed as any of them, and in spite of his infirmities, he always managed to secure a good place in the row of haulers.  None of them knew as well as he did how to inspire visitors with pity during the season, and to make them put their hands into the pockets, and he was a past master at cadging, so that among those empty stomachs and penniless rascals he had windfalls of victuals and coppers more frequently than fell to his share.  But he did not make use of them in order to monopolize their common mistress.

“I am just,” he used to say.  “Let each of us have his spoonful in turn, and no more, when we are all eating out of the same dish.”

With the coal he picked up, he used to make a good fire for the whole band under the iron pot, in which he cooked whatever he brought home with him, without any complaining about it, for he used to say: 

“It gives you a good fire in which to warm yourselves, for nothing, and the smell of my stew into the bargain.”

As for his money, he spent in drink with the trollop, and afterwards, what was left of it, with the other eighteen.

“You see,” he used to say, “I am just, and more than just.  I give her up to you, because it is your right.”

The consequence was that they all liked Daddy La Bretagne, so that he gloried in it, and said proudly: 

“What a pity that we are living under the Republic!  These fellows would think nothing of making me king.”

And one day, when he said this, his trollop replied:  “The king is here, old fellow!” And at the same time she presented a new comrade to them, who was no less ragged or wretched looking than the eighteen, but quite young by the size of him.  He was a tall, thin fellow of about forty, and without a white streak in his long hair.  He was dressed only in a pair of trousers and a shirt, which he wore outside them, like a blouse, and the trollop said: 

“Here, Daddy La Bretagne, you have two knitted vests on, so just give him one.”

“Why should I?” the hauler asked.

“Because I choose you to,” the woman replied.  “I have been living with you set of old men for a long time, so now I want to have a young one; there he is, so you must give him a vest, and keep him here, or I shall throw you up.  You may take it or leave it, as you like.  Do you understand me?”