“What! is it you, my child?—and little Coco too?”
“Yes, Monsieur Bertrand, it’s us. Oh! I’m so glad to see you! he was just going to turn us out of the house.”
“What’s that? you were going to turn this girl out, Schtrack?”
“Sacretié! why haf she not told me what she want? Te leedle poy, he bray like a tonkey in the courtyard: ‘Kind freund! kind freund! see the cakes!’—Did I know his kind freund?”
“It’s my fault, Monsieur Bertrand; I didn’t think—I was so confused. Can’t we see Monsieur Auguste?”
“Yes, indeed,” Bertrand replied with some embarrassment. “Oh, yes! you shall see him. Come upstairs with me, Mamzelle Denise.”
The girl and the child followed Bertrand, who admitted them with some precaution into Auguste’s apartment and took them at once to the small salon, saying:
“Stay here and rest, and wait a little while.”
“Has Monsieur Auguste gone out?”
“No, but he—he has company; he’s busy just at this minute.”