"Is Monsieur Delaroche in?"
Chamoureau did not stir and did not say a word. The voice repeated, louder than before:
"Is Monsieur Delaroche in?"
The same immobility and the same silence on Chamoureau's part. Whereupon the voice assumed a formidable intonation, capable of breaking all the panes of the window.
"Sacrebleu! are you deaf? are you still asleep? This is the third time I've asked if Monsieur Delaroche was in, and you don't answer! What kind of a damned concierge is this!—Wait a bit, till I come into your lodge; I'll shake you and teach you to sleep at this time of day!"
Chamoureau, who was not at all anxious that that gentleman should enter the lodge and shake him, decided to answer without turning:
"He's in! yes, yes, he's in!"
"Why didn't you say so then, you old fool?"
"He's in! he's in!"
The loud-voiced individual went upstairs, and our widower hurled himself in his chair once more, muttering: