"I said young man."
"I am not a young man, sir!"
"I wonder who the fellow was," continued Doctor Keene, as he readjusted the ripped sleeve.
"That is my affair, sir; I know who it was."
"And yet she insists," M. Grandissime was asking Frowenfeld, standing with his leg thrown across the celestial globe, "that I knocked her down intentionally?"
Frowenfeld, about to answer, was interrupted by a rap on the door.
"That is my cousin, with the carriage," said M. Grandissime, following the apothecary into the shop.
Frowenfeld opened to a young man,--a rather poor specimen of the Grandissime type, deficient in stature but not in stage manner.
"Est il mort?" he cried at the threshold.