Translations for harvest in French

Here are paragraphs from public domain books translated:

"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man who goes much to the city. He is a professional beggar, though, in order to avoid the police regulations, he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged, with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and, as he is a piteous spectacle, a small rain of charity descends into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. 1 have watched the fellow more than once, before ever I thought of making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bull-dog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular contrast to the color of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common crowd of mendicants, and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest."

Voilà pour le gérant. Quant au boiteux de mauvaise mine qui habite le second étage de l’antre à opium et qui a certainement été le dernier à voir M. Neville Saint-Clair, son nom est Hugues Boone et sa figure hideuse est familière à tous ceux qui fréquentent la Cité. C’est un mendiant de profession quoique, pour échapper aux règlements de police, il feigne de vendre des boîtes d’allumettes de cire. À une petite distance, en descendant la rue Thread-Needle, sur la gauche, vous avez dû remarquer un petit angle dans le mur. C’est là que cet individu se tient chaque jour, les jambes croisées, son petit éventaire sur les genoux. Il offre un spectacle si digne de pitié qu’une pluie de sous tombe dans la casquette graisseuse qu’il pose par terre devant lui. J’ai observé cet individu plus d’une fois avant aujourd’hui où j’ai pu faire connaissance avec lui par nécessité professionnelle, et j’ai toujours été étonné de la récolte qu’il glane en quelques minutes. C’est que, voyez-vous, son aspect est si étrange que personne ne peut passer près de lui sans le remarquer. Une touffe de cheveux roux ; une figure pâle, traversée d’une horrible cicatrice qui, par contraction, a retroussé le bord de sa lèvre supérieure ; un menton de bouledogue et une paire d’yeux noirs très vifs qui contrastent singulièrement avec la couleur de ses cheveux, tout cela le distingue de la foule des mendiants ainsi que son esprit de repartie, car il a toujours réponse aux plaisanteries que les passants ne manquent pas de lui faire. C’est cet homme, locataire de l’antre à opium, qui, le dernier, a vu le personnage que nous cherchons.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle

Les Aventures de Sherlock Holmes, de Arthur Conan Doyle