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His broken nose gave his face
a singularly unintelligent expression. He poured out another glass of
cognac from the graduated carafe in front of him and sipped it slowly.
Then he gazed at me dully, almost for the first time, and said:
"Madame Brandt owes me fifteen sous."
"And I say that she doesn't!" cried the dwarf fiercely. "I send for him
to discuss matters of the deepest gravity, and he comes talking about
his fifteen sous. I can't get anything out of him, but his fifteen sous.
And the _carissima signora_ doesn't owe it to him. She can't owe it
to him. _Voyons_, Saupiquet, if you don't renounce your miserable
pretensions you will drive me mad, you will make me burst into tears,
you will make me throw you out into the street, and hold you down until
you are run over by a tramcar. You will--you will"--he shook his fist
passionately as he sought for a climactic menace--"you will make me spit
in your eye."
He dashed his fist down on the marble table so that the glasses jingled.
Saupiquet finished his cognac undisturbed.


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