"For vat? Parbleu! you call me one menteur—how you speak 'em—liar? you call me one liar? you call me one liar?"
"Oh, no, sir! You misunderstood"—
"No, by gar! I've got ears. You say you vill sell ze pictair; and ven I tell you vat you say, you say ze contrarie—zat is not so!"
"But I didn't tell you I would sell the pictures," remonstrated the man with the engravings, beginning to feel alarmed at the passion manifested by the other. "You misunderstood"—
"I tell you no! It is not posseebl'! Ven I ask you vat you do viz ze pictair, vat you say?"
"I said I was taking them to Salem."
"Yes, parbleu!" exclaimed monsieur, more angry than ever: "you say you take 'em to sell 'em"—
"No, no!" interrupted the other, "not to sell them, but Salem—the city of Salem."
"Ze city of Sell 'em!" exclaimed the Frenchman, amid the roars of laughter that greeted his ears. "Sacristie! Zat is one grand mistake. Pardon, monsieur! Que je suis bête! Ze city of Sell 'em? Ha, ha! I vill remember zat, by gar!" And he stroked his mustache with his fingers, while the man with the engravings once more gave way to his drowsy inclinations.