Passauf, who in no degree yielded the palm to the burgomaster himself for calmness and phlegm.
On a sign from Van Tricasse—for the worthy man could not have articulated a syllable—the bar was pushed back, and the door opened.
Commissary Passauf flung himself into the antechamber. One would have thought there was a hurricane.
"What's the matter, Monsieur the Commissary?" asked Lotche, a brave woman, who did not lose her head under the most trying circumstances.
"What's the matter!" replied Passauf, whose big round eyes expressed a genuine agitation. "The matter is that I have just come from Doctor Ox's, who has been holding a reception, and that there———"
"There?"
"There I have witnessed such an altercation as—Monsieur the burgomaster, they have been talking politics!"
"Politics!" repeated Van Tricasse, running his fingers through his wig.
"Politics!" resumed Commissary Passauf, "which has not been done for perhaps a hundred years at Quiquendone. Then the discussion got warm, and the advocate, Andre Schut, and the doctor, Dominique Custos, became so violent that it may be they will call each other out."
"Call each other out!" cried the counselor. "A duel! A duel at Quiquendone!" And what did Advocate Schut and Doctor Custos say?"
"Just this: 'Monsieur advocate,' said the doctor to his adversary, 'you go too far, it seems to me, and you do not take sufficient care to control your words!'"
The burgomaster Van Tricasse clasped his hands—the counselor turned pale and let his lantern fall—the commissary shook his head. That a phrase so evidently irritating should be pronounced by two of the principal men in the country!
"This Doctor Custos," muttered Van Tricasse, "is decidedly a dangerous man—a hare-brained fellow! Come, gentlemen!"
On this, Counselor Niklausse and the commissary accompanied the burgomaster into the parlor.
