He slouched forward now still carrying a boot in one hand and a blacking brush in the other.
"Take this lanthorn, then," said the chief agent with a snarl directed at the sleeping concierge, "and come along.

Why are you still here ?" he added, as if in after-thought.
"The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done his boots," muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat contemptuously on the floor; "an aristo, quoi?
A hell of a place this...

twenty cells to sweep out every day...

and boots to clean for every aristo of a concierge or warder who demands it....

Is that work for a free born patriot, I ask ?" "Well, if you are not satisfied, citoyen Dupont," retorted Heron dryly, "you may go when you like, you know there are plenty of others ready to do your work..." "Nineteen hours a day, and nineteen sous by way of payment....