"You're like Monsieur Beranger, composing verses, perhaps! Will you give me those irons! Did any one ever see such a thing! Strolling about on the house-tops! Why not bring your sweetheart at once, and tell her of your love?
Will you give me those irons?
You confounded little shirker!" He finished his soldering, and called to Gervaise: "There, it's done.
I'm coming down." The chimney-pot to which he had to fix the flue was in the middle of the roof.

Gervaise, who was no longer uneasy, continued to smile as she followed his movements.

Nana, amused all on a sudden by the view of her father, clapped her little hands.

She had seated herself on the pavement to see the better up there.
"Papa! Papa!" called she with all her might.

"Papa! Just look!" The zinc-worker wished to lean forward, but his foot slipped.