"Why so much noise ?" "The Minister will see you." John Turner yawned and reached for his hat.
"The Minister is pressed for time." "So was I," replied the Englishman, who spoke perfect French, "when I first sat down here, half an hour ago.

But even haste will pass in time." He rose, and followed the servant into the inner room, where he returned the bow of a little white-bearded gentleman seated at a huge desk.
"Well, sir," said this gentleman, with the abrupt manner which has come to be considered Napoleonic on the stage or in the political world to-day.

"Your business ?" The servant had withdrawn, closing the door behind him with an emphasis of the self-accusatory sort.
"I am a banker," replied John Turner, looking with an obese deliberation toward one of the deep windows, where, half-concealed by the heavy curtain, a third person stood gazing down into the street.
The Minister smiled involuntarily, forgetting his dignity of a two-years' growth.
"Oh, you may speak before Monsieur," he said.
"But I am behind him," was the immediate reply.
The gentleman leaning against the window-breast did not accept this somewhat obvious invitation to show his face.

He must have heard it, however, despite an absorption which was probably chronic; for he made a movement to follow with his glance the passage of some object of interest in the street below.

And the movement seemed to supply John Turner with the information he desired.
"Yes, I am a banker," he said, more genially.
The Minister gave a short laugh.
"Monsieur," he said, "every one in Europe knows that.