“I don’t know, sir, indeed,” replied Mr. Sagittarius.  “I should not like to express an opinion on the point.  If you will excu—­”

“Sir, the old astronomer will not excuse you,” roared Sir Tiglath, forcibly preventing Mr. Sagittarius, who was pale as ashes, from escaping into the farther room.  “He will not be run away from by everybody in this manner.”

“I beg pardon, sir, I had no intention of running away,” said Mr. Sagittarius, making one last despairing effort to assume his toga virilibus.

“Then why did you do it, sir?  Tell the old astronomer that!” cried Sir Tiglath, seizing him by the arm.  “And tell him, moreover, what you and the old female Bridgeman have been about together?”

“Nothing, sir; I swear that Mrs. Bridgeman and myself have never—­”

“Never made investigations into the possibility of there being oxygen in many of the holy stars?  Do you affirm that, sir?”

“I do!” cried Mr. Sagittarius.  “I am an outside broker.”

“Do you affirm that you are no astronomer, sir?  Do you declare that you are not a man of science?”

“I do!  I do!”

“Not an astronomer of remarkable attainments, but very modest and retiring withal?  Oh-h-h!”

“Modest and retiring, sir?” cried Mr. Sagittarius, suddenly illumined by a ray of hope.  “That’s just it!  I am a modest and retiring outside broker, sir.”

And he violently endeavoured to prove the truth of the words by escaping forthwith into obscurity.

“There never was a modest and retiring outside broker!” bellowed Sir Tiglath.  “There never was, and there never will be.  The old—­”

“What’s that?” interrupted Mr. Sagittarius.  “Whatever’s that?”

For at this moment an extraordinary hum of voices made itself audible above the fifty guitars, and a noise of many feet trampling eagerly upon Mrs. Bridgeman’s parquet grew louder and louder in the brilliant rooms.  Attracted by the uproar, Sir Tiglath paused for a moment, still keeping his hand upon the lapel of Mr. Ferdinand’s coat, however.  The noise increased.  It was evident that a multitude of people was rapidly approaching.  Words uttered by the moving guests, exclamations, and ejaculations of excitement now detached themselves from the general murmur.

“The Prophet from the Mouse!”

“The great Malkiel here!”

“The founder of the almanac!”

“The greatest Prophet of the age!”

“Malkiel the Second from the Mouse!”

“Where is Malkiel?”

“We must find Malkiel!”

“We must see Malkiel!”

“Is it really Malkiel?”

“Oh, is it the Malkiel?  Where—­where is Malkiel?”

Such cries as these broke upon the ears of the astronomer and Mr. Sagittarius.

Sir Tiglath grew purple.

“Malkiel who has insulted the holy stars here!” he roared, letting go of Mr. Sagittarius.  “Where—­where is he?”