"They are all gone out, Monsieur," said the street-youngster.
"You lie!" said the cynosure of neighboring eyes.
"Ah!" thought Kristian Koppig; "I will go down and ask him"--Here his
thoughts lost outline; he was only convinced that he had somewhat to say
to him, and turned to go down stairs. In going he became a little vexed
with himself because he could not help hurrying. He noticed, too, that
his arm holding the stair-rail trembled in a silly way, whereas he was
perfectly calm. Precisely as he reached the street-door the manager
raised the knocker; but the latch clicked and the wicket was drawn
slightly ajar.
Inside could just be descried Madame John. The manager bowed, smiled,
talked, talked on, held money in his hand, bowed, smiled, talked on,
flourished the money, smiled, bowed, talked on and plainly persisted in
some intention to which Madame John was steadfastly opposed.
The window above, too,--it was Kristian Koppig who noticed that,--opened
a wee bit, like the shell of a terrapin; Presently the manager lifted
his foot and put forward an arm, as though he would enter the gate by
pushing, but as quick as gunpowder it clapped--in his face!
You could hear the fleeing feet of Zalli pounding up the staircase.
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