There is surely no need for much growling, thought he.
Conrad, snorting violently, glanced round the room like one of those fairy-tale dragons that scents human flesh, and then roared-- "Let the master be sent for!" "He is not at home." Conrad glanced at Livius, murmuring, "Didn't I say so ?" Whereupon he planted one fist on the table, flung the other behind his back, and thrusting forward his chest, regarded the youth with a savage stare.
"Then where _is_ the master ?" "He did not so far honour me with his confidence as to tell me," replied Alexander, who had sufficient _sang-froid_ to assume an expression of utter indifference.
"'Tis well," said Conrad, and he drew from an inner pocket a sealed letter.

"What's your name, young man ?" Alexander began looking at his interlocutor with surprise and annoyance.
"Come, come!" said Conrad, "don't be afraid.

I don't mean to frighten you.

I only want to know your name." "My name is Alexander Barna." Conrad took a note of the fact in his pocket-book, and then ceremoniously holding the letter by the edge of the envelope, he said-- "Then listen to me, my dear _Mr._ Alexander Barna." He laid particular stress upon the word "Mr." that the lad might be duly sensible of the honour done to him thereby.

"This letter tells your master----" "You may give it me, sir.