The sun was setting behind the house in a brilliant rosy light, which was gradually becoming paler, and turning to a delicate lilac.

And, at this quiet hour of the day, right up against the sky, the silhouettes of the two workmen, looking inordinately large, with the dark line of the bench, and the strange profile of the bellows, stood out from the limpid back-ground of the atmosphere.
When the chimney-top was got into shape, Coupeau called out: "Zidore! The irons!" But Zidore had disappeared.

The zinc-worker swore, and looked about for him, even calling him through the open skylight of the loft.

At length he discovered him on a neighboring roof, two houses off.

The young rogue was taking a walk, exploring the environs, his fair scanty locks blowing in the breeze, his eyes blinking as they beheld the immensity of Paris.
"I say, lazy bones! Do you think you're having a day in the country ?" asked Coupeau, in a rage.