"By Heaven!" cried La Mole, "it was here—I would swear to it—in extending my hand, as I came out, I felt the nails in the door, then I descended two steps. The man who ran by crying 'Help!' who was killed in the Rue Roi de Sicile, passed just as I reached the first. Let us see, now."
La Mole went to the door and knocked. The door opened and a mustached janitor appeared.
"Was ist das?" (Who is that?) asked the janitor.
"Ah! ah!" said La Mole, "we are Swiss, apparently." "My friend," he continued, assuming the most charming manner, "I want my sword which I left in this house in which I spent the night."
"Ich verstehe nicht," (I do not understand,) replied the janitor.
"My sword," went on La Mole.
"Ich verstehe nicht," repeated the janitor.
"—which I left—my sword which I left"—
"Ich verstehe nicht."
"—in this house, in which I spent the night."