“He wants to speak to you directly, Mr. Dagobert.”
“His name?”
“His name, M. Dagobert?” replied Loony, rolling about and laughing with an idiotic air.
“Yes, his name. Speak, idiot!”
“Oh, M. Dagobert! it’s all in joke that you ask me his name!”
“You are determined, fool that you are, to drive me out of my senses!” cried the soldier, seizing Loony by the collar. “The name of this young man!”
“Don’t be angry, M. Dagobert. I didn’t tell you the name because you know it.”
“Beast!” said Dagobert, shaking his fist at him.
“Yes, you do know it, M. Dagobert, for the young man is your own son. He is downstairs, and wants to speak to you directly—yes, directly.”
The stupidity was so well assumed, that Dagobert was the dupe of it. Moved to compassion rather than anger by such imbecility, he looked fixedly at the servant, shrugged his shoulders, and said, as he advanced towards the staircase, “Follow me!”