One evening there is a little flutter among this brood. A gentleman, at the alley door, wishes to see M. Sorel. M. Sorel leads the gentleman out, through the alley gate, to the front street-door; then, retiring whence he came, he shortly appears from within at the front door, which opens only after a struggle. A knot of small boys has instantly gathered, apparently impressed with a vague, awful expectation that the gentleman about to enter will never come out. Realizing, however, that in that case there will be nothing to see, they slowly disperse when the door is closed, and resume their play.
Sorel ushers the gentleman into the front parlor, which is Sorel's bedroom, which is also the storehouse of his merchandise, which is also the nursery. At this moment an infant is sleeping in a trundle-bed.
The gentleman takes a chair. So does Sorel.
The gentleman does not talk French. Fortunately, M. Sorel can speak the English: he has learned it in making purchases for his table.
“I am an officer of the government,” says Mr. Fox, with a very sharp, distinct utterance, “in the custom-house. You know 'customhouse'?”
M. Sorel does not commit himself. He is an importer of toys. One must be on his guard.
Thereupon, a complicated explanation: this street, and that street, and the other street, and this building, and the market, and the great building standing here.
Ah! yes! M. Sorel identifies the building. Then he is informed that many government officers are there. He knew it very well before.
The conversation goes a step farther.
Mr. Fox is one of those officers. The government is at present in need of a gentleman absolutely trustworthy, for certain important duties: perhaps to judge of silks; perhaps to oversee the weighing of sugar, of iron, of diamonds; perhaps to taste of wines. Who can say what service this great government may not need from its children!