The laughter now became louder, and the legs of the guests more vigorous than ever.  The orchestra, too, received an addition to its strength in the person of a gentleman who, having drunk more cold punch than was quite consistent with the preservation of his equilibrium, was still sober enough to oblige us with a spirited accompaniment on the shovel and tongs, which, with the violin and accordion, and the comb obligato before mentioned, produced a startling effect, and reminded one of Turkish marches, Pantomime overtures, and the like barbaric music.

In the midst of the first polka, however, we were interrupted by a succession of furious double knocks on the floor beneath our feet.  We stopped by involuntary consent—­dancers, musicians, and all.

“It’s our neighbor on the story below,” said Monsieur Jules.  “He objects to the dancing.”

“Then we’ll dance a little heavier, to teach him better taste,” said a student, who had so little hair on his head and so much on his chin, that he looked as if his face had been turned upside down.  “What is the name of the ridiculous monster?”

“Monsieur Bobinet.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, let us dance for the edification of Monsieur Bobinet!  Orchestra, strike up, in honor of Monsieur Bobinet!  One, two, three, and away!”

Hereupon we uttered a general hurrah, and dashed off again, like a herd of young elephants.  The knocking ceased, and we thought that Monsieur Bobinet had resigned himself to his fate, when, just as the polka ended and the dancers were promenading noisily round and round the room, the bombardment began afresh; and this time against the very door of the ball-room.

“Par exemple!” cries Monsieur Jules.  “The enemy dares to attack us in our own lines!”

“Bolt the door, and let him knock till he’s tired,” suggested one.

“Open it suddenly, and deluge him with water!” cried another.

“Tar and feather him!” proposed a third.

In the meantime, Monsieur Bobinet, happily ignorant of these agreeable schemes for his reception, continued to thunder away upon the outer panels, accompanying the raps with occasional loud coughs, and hems, and stampings of the feet.

“Hush! do nothing violent,” cried Mueller, scenting a practical joke.  “Let us invite him in, and make fun of him.  It will be ever so much more amusing!”

And with this he drove the rest somewhat back and threw open the door, upon the outer threshold of which, with a stick in one hand and a bedroom candle in the other, and a flowered dressing-gown tied round his ample waist by a cord and tassels, stood Monsieur Bobinet.

Mueller received him with a profound bow, and said:—­

“Monsieur Bobinet, I believe?”

Monsieur Bobinet, who was very bald, very cross, and very stout, cast an irritable glance into the room, but, seeing so many people, drew back and said:—­