"This is your fault," said Elvira: "this is what comes of fancying
things!"
Again Leon pulled the bell-rope; again the solemn tocsin awoke the
echoes of the inn; and ere they had died away, a light glimmered in
the carriage entrance, and a powerful voice was heard upraised and
tremulous with wrath.
"What's all this?" cried the tragic host through the spars of the
gate. "Hard upon twelve, and you come clamouring like Prussians at
the door of a respectable hotel? Oh!" he cried, "I know you now!
Common singers! People in trouble with the police! And you
present yourselves at midnight like lords and ladies? Be off with
you!"
"You will permit me to remind you," replied Leon, in thrilling
tones, "that I am a guest in your house, that I am properly
inscribed, and that I have deposited baggage to the value of four
hundred francs."
"You cannot get in at this hour," returned the man. "This is no
thieves' tavern, for mohocks and night rakes and organ-grinders."
"Brute!" cried Elvira, for the organ-grinders touched her home.
"Then I demand my baggage," said Leon, with unabated dignity.
"I know nothing of your baggage," replied the landlord.
"You detain my baggage? You dare to detain my baggage?" cried the
singer.
"Who are you?" returned the landlord. "It is dark - I cannot
recognise you."
"Very well, then - you detain my baggage," concluded Leon.
Pages:
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380