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The Wondersmith withdrew the tent, and, lo! the furious dolls were once more wooden-jointed and inflexible; and the old sinister look was again frozen on their faces. "They must have blood, though," said Herr Hippe, as he gathered them up and put them into their box. "Mr. Pippel, the bird-fancier, is asleep. I have a key that opens his door.
Each furious doll tried to plunge dagger or sword into his or her neighbor, and the women seemed possessed by a thousand devils. "They will break themselves into atoms," cried Filomel, as she watched with eagerness this savage melee. "You had better gather them up, Herr Hippe. I will exhaust my bottle and suck all the souls back from them."
Herr Hippe started, raised his head, which vibrated on his long neck like the head of a cobra when about to strike, and after a moment's silence uttered a strange guttural sound. The door unclosed, and a squat, broad-shouldered woman, with large, wild, Oriental eyes, entered softly. "Ah! Filomel, you are come!" said the Wondersmith, sinking back in his chair. "Where are the rest of them?"
Solon, the little humpback, who kept the odd-volume book-stall at the lowest corner, could throw no light upon it. And at length people had to come to the conclusion, that Herr Hippe was either a coiner or a magician, and opinions were divided. It was a dull December evening. There was little trade doing in Golosh Street, and the shutters were up at most of the shops.
While Madame Filomel uncorked the black bottle, Herr Hippe covered the dolls over with a species of linen tent, which he took also from the box. This done, the fortune-teller held the mouth of the bottle to the door of the tent, gathering the loose cloth closely round the glass neck. Immediately, tiny noises were heard inside the tent.
And the Wondersmith laughed horribly, while the snaky moustache on his upper lip writhed as if it had truly a serpent's power and could sting. "Have you got your first batch, Herr Hippe?" asked Madame Filomel. "Are they all ready?" "Oh, ay! they are ready," answered the Wondersmith with gusto, opening, as he spoke, the box covered with the blue steel lace-work; "they are here."
Caught by some accident, it hung half out, swaying over the edge of the pocket, as the fat midwife rolled backwards and forwards in her drunken efforts at equilibrium. "All right," said Herr Hippe, "perfectly right! Let's drink." He reached out his hand for his glass, and, with a dull sigh, dropped on the table, in the instantaneous slumber of intoxication.
These Mino-birds, I may remark, in passing, have a singular aptitude for acquiring phrases. "What'll you take?" repeated the Mino, cocking his other eye upon Herr Hippe. "Mon Dieu! what a bird!" exclaimed the little Frenchman. "He is, in truth, polite." "I don't know what I'll take," said Hippe, as if replying to the Mino-bird; "but I know what you'll get, old fellow!
We will let them loose among the birds; it will be rare fun." "Magnificent!" cried Kerplonne. "Let us go on the instant. But first let me gather up my eye." The Frenchman pocketed his eye, after having given it a polish with the silk handkerchief; Herr Hippe extinguished the lamp; Oaksmith took a last bumper of Port; and the four gypsies departed for Mr.
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