The clerk was interrupted in his appeal by his master himself, who called out from the further side of the courtyard, with an air of business: “M. Piston! quick, M. Piston—come directly!”
“What the devil does he want with me?” cried the clerk, in a passion. “He calls me just at the moment when I might have seen something.”
“M. Piston,” resumed the voice, approaching, “do you not hear?”
While Samuel let out the masons, the clerk saw, through a clump of trees, his master running towards him bareheaded, and with an air of singular haste and importance. The clerk was therefore obliged to leave the steps, to answer the notary’s summons, towards whom he went with a very bad grace.
“Sir, sir,” said M. Dumesnil, “I have been calling you this hour with all my might.”
“I did not hear you sir,” said M. Piston.
“You must be deaf, then. Have you any change about you?”
“Yes sir,” answered the clerk, with some surprise.
“Well, then, you must go instantly to the nearest stamp-office, and fetch me three or four large sheets of stamped paper, to draw up a deed. Run! it is wanted directly.”
“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, casting a rueful and regretful glance at the door of the walled-up house.