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?"
"In there, sir, I verily believe!" cried Mr. Sagittarius, pointing in
the direction of the crowd with a hand that shook like all the leaves in
Vallombrosa.
"Let me find him!" shouted the astronomer.
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