‘Mercy on us!—are you the brother of that servant-girl there’s been such a noise about, who turned out at her master’s death to have been his wife,—and had all his fortune left to her, and died herself soon afterwards?’ ‘It is precisely so,’ answered Hansli, dryly. [51] ‘But—goodness of Heaven!’ cried Madame the Syndic, ‘you inherit fifty thousand crowns at least,—and behold you still running over the country with your brooms!’ ‘Why not?’ said Hansli; ‘I haven’t got that money, yet; and I’m not going to let go my sparrow in the hand for a pigeon on the tiles.’ ‘Pigeon on the tiles, indeed!’ said Madame,—‘why, we were speaking of it only this morning—I and M. the Syndic; and he said the thing was perfectly sure, and the money came all to the brother.’ ‘Ah, well, my faith, so much the better,’ said Hansli; ‘but about what I called to ask,—must you have the brooms in eight days, or fifteen?’ ‘Ah, bah—you and your brooms!’ cried Madame the Syndic; ‘come in, will you?—I want to see how wide Monsieur will open his eyes!’ ‘But, Madame, I am a little hurried to-day; it’s a long way home from here, and the days are short.’ ‘Long or short, come in, always,’ said Madame imperatively,—and Hansli had nothing for it but to obey. She did not take him into the kitchen, but into the dining-room; sent her maid to tell Monsieur that Hansli was there,—ordered up a bottle of wine,—and forced Hansli to sit down, in spite of his continued protesting that he had no time, and that the days were short. But in a wink the Monsieur was there, sat down at the table also, and drank to Hansli’s health and happiness; requiring him at the same time to explain how that had all happened.