knocking to waken one; and he, when he came at last to the door, could find no other remark but that "it none of his business." Léon reasoned with him, threatened him, besought him; "here," he said, "was Madame berthelini in evening dress—a delicate woman—in an interesting condition"—the last was thrown in, I fancy, for effect; and to all this the man-at-arms made the same answer:
"It is none of my business," said he.
"Very well," said Léon, "then we shall go to the Commissary." Thither they went; the office was closed and dark; but the house was close by, and Léon was soon swinging the bell like a madman. The Commissary's wife appeared at a window. She was a thread-paper creature, and informed them that the Commissary had not yet come home.
"Is he at the Maire's?" demanded Leon.
She thought that was not unlikely.
"Where is the Maire's house?" he asked.
And she gave him some rather vague information on that point.
"Stay you here, Elvira," said Leon, "lest I should miss him by the way. If, when I return, I find you here no longer, I shall follow at once to the Black Head."
And he set out to find the Maire's. It took him some ten minutes wandering among blind lanes, and when he arrived it was already half an hour past midnight. A long white garden wall overhung by some thick chestnuts, a door with a letter-box, and an iron bell-pull, that was all that could be seen of the Maire's domicile. Léon took the bell-pull in both hands, and danced furiously upon the side-walk. The bell itself was just upon the other side of the wall, it responded to his activity, and scattered an alarming clangor far and wide into the night.
A window was thrown open in a house across the street, and a voice inquired the cause of this untimely uproar.
