Alfred uttered a sort of heavy, inarticulate groan, while his bell-crowned hat recommenced its convulsive agitations. This pantomimic action was meant to express that Alfred was in no condition to explain anything to anybody, having his mind already sufficiently burdened with an infinity of problematical questions he sought in vain to solve.
"Don't take any notice of poor dear Alfred, Madame Séraphin; he has got the cramp in his stomach, and that makes him so very—But what is this board of which you were speaking? Very likely it has just been put up by the man who keeps the wine-shop at the corner."
"I tell you again it is no such thing. It is a small painted board, hung up over your door,—I mean the door leading from the alley to the street."
"Ah, you are laughing at us!"
"Indeed I am not. I saw it just now, as I came in; on it is written, in large letters, 'Pipelet and Cabrion, dealers in Friendship and similar Articles. Inquire of the Porter.'"
"Gracious goodness! Do you hear that, Alfred? Do you hear what is written up over our door?"
Alfred gazed at Madame Séraphin with a bewildered look, but he neither understood nor sought to understand her meaning.
"Do you mean to say," continued Madame Pipelet, confounded by this fresh audacity, "that you positively saw a little board out in the street with all that about Alfred and Cabrion, and dealing in friendship?"
"I tell you I have just seen it, and read with my own eyes what I described to you. 'Well,' said I to myself, 'this is droll enough! M. Pipelet is a shoemaker by trade, but here he writes up publicly that he is a dealer in friendship along with a M. Cabrion! What can all this mean? There is something meant more than meets the eye!' Still, as the board further directed all persons desirous of knowing more to apply to the porter, 'Oh,' thinks I, 'Madame Pipelet can explain all this to me!' But, look, look!" cried Madame Séraphin, suddenly breaking off in her remarks. "Your husband is taken ill! Mind what you are about, or he will fall backwards!"
Madame Pipelet flew to her afflicted partner, and was just in time to receive him, half fainting, in her arms. The last blow had been too overwhelming,—the man in the bell-crowned hat had but just strength left to murmur forth, "The scoundrel has, then, publicly placarded me!"