In a minute down came the lodgers “of all nations,” in ready answer to the summons; and scarcely had the “whir-r” finished, before the kitchen was filled with the “drawing-rooms,” “the second, and third floors,” and “the garrets” from every quarter of the globe; and among the number was Mr. Quinine, who was heard to declare that the sudden alarm had thrown Mrs. Quinine back—it was impossible for him to say to what extent. Then, of course, came the humiliating explanation in the presence of the assembled multitude; and there, amidst the laughter “of all nations,”—for the foreigners, one and all, would have the circumstance translated to them,—Mr. and Mrs. Sandboys had to make known the whole of the mistake, and to tell how Cursty was about to be taken into custody on a charge of infanticide, for having drowned a couple of puppies. By the time he had finished what theatrical critics term “the _éclaircissement_ of the _contretemps_” a body of police, attracted to the spot by the well-known buzz of a distant rattle, swarmed round the door like blue-bottles round a butcher’s shop, and there they kept dabbing at the knocker, very much after the same persevering manner as belongs to beadles accompanying the parish engine to a chimney on fire. * * * * * As we said before, while the Sandboys were in the kitchen, anxiously looking for some tidings touching their luggage, Major Oldschool was, immediately overhead, impatiently pacing the parlour, and vowing all manner of vengeance against his niece for having gone off with a “dirty, beggarly, skinny vagabond of a Frenchman.” The Major was what is termed a “good hater” of foreigners.