Just then a carriage stopped before the shop. It was raining in torrents. The housewife put on a more amiable expression, thinking that custom might come from the coach; but, to her great astonishment, the coachman, having descended slowly and clumsily from his seat, looked at the sign and entered the tailor's shop.
"Master Landry?" he asked, in a loud voice, shaking his great-coat all dripping with rain.
"At least, there is no need of your shaking yourself like a dog coming out of the water in order to ask for Master Landry," sharply answered Madelaine. "What do you want?"
"My good woman, if I shake myself it is because I am soaked—drowned—as you can see, and I only give you a drop or two."
"Much obliged for your kindness," said the housewife.
"As to Master Landry, I wish to speak to him about a young gentleman . . . Zounds! what a charming little gentleman! As true as my name is Jerome Sicard, I never saw such a beauty.—Come now," said the coachman, interrupting himself, "see how the water is running down my neck," and he began to shake his hat.
Dame Madelaine was bursting out anew, when the window of the carriage was lowered. A man about fifty years of age, large, coarse, rubicund, powdered, and clothed in black, called to the coachman in the voice of a Stentor. Seeing that his summons was unheeded, he opened the door, got out of the carriage, and entered the shop.
"Will you tell me, you stupid, why you have stopped here instead of carrying me to the Soubise Hotel?"
"Excuse me sir; I had to execute a commission for a fine gentleman." . . . .
"And what is that to me,—your fine gentleman? I'm in a hurry. Come, get on the box." . . . .