I had taken my purse from my pocket and I was looking about for something to put it on, which was hard to find, unless I should put it on the floor, when the tailor, who had abruptly left the window and begun to dance about the room, strode toward me with a frown.
“I say, monsieur from below, who don’t like music, do I look to you like a man who asks alms? Who gave you leave to come to my room and insult me? Has Pettermann ever been called a beggar?”
“Pettermann!” I said, looking at him more carefully; “is your name Pettermann?”
“Schnick Pettermann, journeyman tailor from the age of fifteen. I have never succeeded in getting to be a master tailor. It isn’t my fault. Well, when will you finish staring me out of countenance?”
“Yes, I know now; you used to live on Rue Meslay.”
“I think so, but I have moved so often that I can hardly remember all the rooms that I have occupied!”
“Don’t you remember that little room that you used to climb into so often through the window in the roof, after breaking the glass, because you had lost your key?”
“Ah! I remember now, there was a broad gutter; it was very convenient, I used to walk on it.”
“And that young neighbor of yours in whose room you used to light your candle?”
“Little Marguerite—ah, yes! I recognize you now. You were my neighbor’s lover.”