"Six thousand weight."

"That's all I have," said the seller, in a voice like a hoarse flute.
"My dear monsieur, you are not one of the sluggards who waste their
time on girls and perfumes. God bless you, you've got something to do!
Excuse me a bit. You'll be a jolly customer, dear to the heart of the
woman I love best in the world."

"Who is that?"

"Hey! the dear Madame Madou."

"What's the price of your nuts?"

"For you, old fellow, twenty-five francs a hundred, if you take them
all."

"Twenty-five francs!" cried Birotteau. "Fifteen hundred francs! I
shall want perhaps a hundred thousand a year."

"But just look how fine they are; fresh as a daisy," she said,
plunging her red arm into a sack of filberts. "Plump, no empty ones,
my dear man. Just think! grocers sell their beggarly trash at
twenty-four sous a pound, and in every four pounds they put a pound of
_hollows_. Must I lose my profits to oblige you? You're nice enough,
but you don't please me all that! If you want so many, we might make a
bargain at twenty francs. I don't want to send away a deputy-mayor,
--bad luck to the brides, you know! Now, just handle those nuts; heavy,
aren't they? Less than fifty to the pound; no worms there, I can tell