“The respectability,” cried Gustave, significantly.
“We mean the respectability of it,” repeated Franz, as if he were explaining something.
Walter looked first from one to the other, and did not seem to comprehend.
“You tell him, Gustave.”
“Yes, Walter, Franz will tell you,” said Gustave.
“Walter, our papa is a deacon, and carries a portfolio, and there where we live is a——”
“Yes,” cried Gustave, “there on the Gracht, you know, lives M’neer Krulewinkel. He has a villa——”
“With a portico,” added Franz.
“It’s just on account of our standing—don’t you see, Walter? And when a visitor comes our mother brings out the wine.”
“Yes, Maderia, Maderia! And our tobacco-box is silver, and——”