But pardon me.

Before we talk business we must order something." He touched the bell.

The proprietor himself thrust in his head, bullet-shaped, with black moustache and unshaven chin.

He wore no collar, and the remainder of his apparel was negligible.
"A bottle of your best brandy," Frenhofer ordered.

"The best, mind, Pere Hanaut." The man's acquiescence was as amiable as nature would permit.
"Monsieur will excuse me," Frenhofer went on, as the door was once more closed, "but these people have their little ways.