"I wish the Maire," said Leon.
"He has been in bed this hour," returned the voice.
"He must get up again," retorted Leon, 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 Leon, 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, neighbor," 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 Leon.
"Not he," she replied.
"Good," returned Leon. "I am sure our man's inside. Let me see the guitar-case. I shall lay this siege in form, Elvira; I am angry; I am indignant; I am truculently inclined; but I thank my Maker I have still a sense of fun. The unjust judge shall be importuned in a serenade, Elvira. Set him up—and set him up."
He had the case opened by this time, struck a few chords, and fell into an attitude which was irresistibly Spanish.
"Now," he continued, "feel your voice. Are you ready? Follow me!"
The guitar twanged, and the two voices upraised, in harmony and with a startling loudness, the chorus of a song of old Beranger's:—
"Commissaire! Commissaire!
Colin bat sa menagere."
