"When did the carriage come?"
"This morning."
"And monsieur?"
"He is within, I think."
I ran up the steps into the house and fell plump against a girl who was carrying some glasses and a jug upon a tray. She gave a little scream; the tray struck me on the chest; there was jingle of broken glass, and a jugful of claret was streaming down my breeches and soaking about my knees.
"Monsieur is in?" I asked.
"Stupid!" she said, with a stamp of the foot.
"Monsieur is in?" I asked again.
"Booby," says she, and caught me a swinging box on the ears.
"I beg your pardon," said I, and I ran up the stairs. A footman stood beside the door on the landing, and I knew the man.