It was a custom which was so well established and so universally recognized, that it had all the force and dignity of law.

By authority of this custom, whosoever entered a Berlin house after ten at night must pay a trifling toll to the _portier_ for breaking his sleep to let him in.

This tax was either two and a half cents or five cents, I don't remember which; but I had never paid it, and didn't know I owed it, and as I had been residing in Berlin several weeks, I was so far in arrears that my presence in the German capital was getting to be a serious disaster to that young fellow.
I arrived from the imperial dinner sorrowful and anxious, made my presence known and prepared myself to wait in patience the tedious minute or two which the _portier_ usually allowed himself to keep me tarrying--as a punishment.

But this time there was no stage-wait; the door was instantly unlocked, unbolted, unchained and flung wide; and in it appeared the strange and welcome apparition of the _portier's_ round face all sunshine and smiles and welcome, in place of the black frowns and hostility that I was expecting.

Plainly he had not come out of his bed: he had been waiting for me, watching for me.