Good Papa Legros had planted two of his most stalwart assistants at the door, with orders to admit no one who did not bear a familiar face, and if any one prove importunate, why then the end of a whip-lash or even a stout stick should drive impudence away.
Thus it was that when Master Daniel Pye—the faithful henchman of fair Mistress Peyton—presented himself at the tailor's shop in the Rue de l'Ancienne Comédie, he was incontinently refused admittance.
"I desire to speak with M. Legros, tailor to His Majesty the King of France," growled Daniel Pye in excessively bad French, for he knew nothing of the gibberish and had only learnt this phrase off by heart like a parrot that jabbers without understanding.
"Then thou silly lout of a buffle-headed Englishman, thou'lt have to wait with thy desire until to-morrow."
"I desire to speak with M. Legros, tailor to His Majesty the King of France," repeated Pye mechanically. It was the only sentence which he knew, and he had been assured by his crony that the magic phrase would ope the doors for him without any difficulty.
"Get thee gone, and come back to-morrow," retorted the stalwart sentinel.
"I desire to speak with—"
"An thou'lt not go at once," shouted the tailor's irascible cutter, "I'll give thee a taste of a French stick across thy English shoulders."
"I desire—"
Bang! came the stout stick crashing down on worthy Pye's broad back, quickly bent in order to check the strength of the blow.