I was struggling heroically to force my arms through the sleeves of a well-starched shirt, when the man knocked upon the door of my bedroom for the second time. I had heard him faintly five minutes before, when my head was as far in a basin as the limitations of Parisian toilet-ware would allow it to go; but now he knocked imperiously, and when I opened to him he stood hesitatingly with a foolish leer upon his face, and that which he meant for discretion upon his lips.
"Well," said I, "what the devil do you want? Can't you see I'm dressing?"
At this he looked with obvious pity for me towards the basin, but quickly recovered himself.
"Dame," said he, with a fine Gascon accent, "there is a lady waiting for monsieur in the salon."
"A lady!" cried I with surprise; "who is she?"
"I am but three days in Paris," replied he, "and she is a stranger to me. If monsieur prefers it, I will ask her some questions."
"You will please do nothing of the sort; did she give her name?"
"I seem to remember that she did, but it has escaped me. I shall say that you are engaged, and will see her to-morrow; monsieur leaves Paris at nine o'clock hein?"
He said this with another vulgar leer, but I turned round upon him fiercely, for I had begun to brush what is left of my hair.
"You impudent poltroon!" exclaimed I; "leave the room instantly, and tell the lady that I will be with her in five minutes."