“Two bocks for the fourth table.”
Another voice, more distant still, shouted out:
“Here they are!”
Immediately a man with a white apron appeared, carrying two “bocks,” which he set down, foaming, on the table, spilling some of the yellow liquid on the sandy floor in his haste.
Des Barrets emptied his glass at a single draught and replaced it on the table, while he sucked in the foam that had been left on his mustache. He next asked:
“What is there new?”
I really had nothing new to tell him. I stammered:
“Nothing, old man. I am a business man.”
In his monotonous tone of voice he said:
“Indeed, does it amuse you?”