"In truth, it concerns Mr. Pipelet," said Mrs. Seraphin; "he must explain this to me."
Alfred uttered a sort of low, inarticulate groan, shaking his hat, a pantomime signifying that Alfred found himself incapable of explaining anything to others, being sufficiently preoccupied with an infinity of problems, each one more difficult of solution than the other.
"Pay no attention, Mrs. Seraphin," said Anastasia. "Poor Alfred has got the cramp; that makes him—"
"But what is this sign, then, of which you speak?"
"Perhaps our neighbor—"
"No, no; I tell you it is a little sign nailed over your door."
"Come, you want to joke."
"Not at all; I saw it as I came in. There is written on it in large letters, 'Pipelet and Cabrion, Dealers in Friendship, etc. Apply within.'"
"That's written over our door, do you hear, Alfred?"
Pipelet looked at Mrs. Seraphin with a wild stare. He did not comprehend; he did not wish to comprehend.