A window was thrown open in a house across the street, and a voice inquired the cause of this untimely uproar.
“I wish the Maire,” said Léon.
“He has been in bed this hour,” returned the voice.
“He must get up again,” retorted Léon, and he was for tackling the bell-pull once more.
“You will never make him hear,” responded the voice. “The garden is of great extent, the house is at the farther end, and both the Maire and his housekeeper are deaf.”
“Aha!” said Léon, pausing. “The Maire is deaf, is he? That explains.” And he thought of the evening’s concert with a momentary feeling of relief. “Ah!” he continued, “and so the Maire is deaf, and the garden vast, and the house at the far end?”
“And you might ring all night,” added the voice, “and be none the better for it. You would only keep me awake.”
“Thank you, neighbour,” replied the singer. “You shall sleep.”
And he made off again at his best pace for the Commissary’s. Elvira was still walking to and fro before the door.
“He has not come?” asked Léon.