“Next time? Vhat of zis next time? Vhat is it zat you come to do ’ere?”
“To study Gluck, Monsieur, as you see.”
“Gluck! and vhat is it to you ze scores of Gluck? Vhere get you permission for enter ze library?”
“Monsieur” (I was beginning to lose my temper too), “the scores of Gluck are the most magnificent dramatic works I know, and I need no permission to use the library since, from ten to three, it is open to all.”
“Zen I forbid zat you return.”
“Excuse me, I shall return whenever I choose.”
That made him worse.
“Vha-Vha-Vhat is your name?” he stammered.
“My name, Monsieur, you shall hear some day, but not now.”
“Hotin,” to the porter, “catch ’im and make ’im put in ze prison.”