LITMIR.BIZ

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touching his hat:

      "A ticket for Place Cadet, madame, if you please."

      "Do you take me for an omnibus clerk, monsieur?" replied the dame, sourly; "can't you go to the office?"

      "Pardon me, madame; I just went there, and they told me to apply on the left, in a corner."

      "Well, monsieur, am I a corner, I should like to know?"

      "Dame! I don't know; they told me to go to the left; I don't see the office; I don't see the 'bus."

      And the youth returned to the office he had just left, crying:

      "Where is that place where you get tickets for Place Cadet? I can't find it; can't you come and show me the way?"

      "Well, this caps the climax! If we had to act as guides for everybody who goes astray, then there would have to be a corps of messengers attached to the office.—Over yonder, I told you, monsieur; on the other side of Boulevard Saint-Denis."

      "What! have I got to go all the way to Saint-Denis to get to Place Cadet?"

      "La Villette! all aboard for La Villette!"

      All those who were bound for that destination hurried from the office, and in the confusion jostled the youth who wished to go to Place Cadet, and who persisted in remaining in the office where he had no business, looking at everybody as if he were disposed to weep.

      "Why do you stay here, monsieur," inquired Mademoiselle Laurette, "when they told you to go to the office on Boulevard Saint-Denis?"

      "I don't know Boulevard Saint-Denis, mademoiselle; and I am afraid of losing my way."

      "The trouble is that you ought not to have been let go out alone; some parents are very imprudent! I'll tell you what you ought to do: go to one of the messengers over by Porte Saint-Martin; take his arm and give him ten sous, and he'll take you to Place Cadet; he'll carry you even, if you're tired."

      "Ten sous! oh! that's too much. You're not going to Place Cadet, are you, mademoiselle?"

      "Oh! no, monsieur; we're going to the country."

      "Ah! do the omnibuses take people to the country too?"

      "They take you everywhere, monsieur."

      "Really! I have such a longing to see the sea; do the omnibuses give transfer checks for the seashore?"

      "You have only to ask, and you'll find out."

      The tall clown was on the point of returning to the clerks, but he was pushed aside by the man who had gone to get a glass of beer, and who returned to the office with a joyous air, saying:

      "Ah! this time I think I haven't been long; is my La Villette 'bus coming?"

      "La Villette!—it's just started, monsieur."

      "Oh! that is too much. Why couldn't you make it wait?"

      "They never wait, monsieur."

      "When will there be another one now?"

      "In about ten minutes."

      "Oh! then I have time enough to get a cup of coffee—and a glass of liqueur to wash down the beer."

      With that, he returned to the café, followed by the tall youth, who shouted to him from afar:

      "Monsieur, a ticket for Place Cadet?"

IV

       ONLOOKERS AND LOITERERS

       Table of Contents

      A line of carriages, with white-gloved coachmen, semi-bourgeois equipages, had halted on the square in front of the restaurant; still another wedding party intending to banquet at Deffieux's.

      A number of people had gathered in front of the door, to watch the bridal couple enter. Inquisitive folk abound in Paris; perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they abound everywhere. Why this general desire to see a bride, when she has not as yet performed all the duties which that title devolves upon her? Is it simply to see whether she is pretty, and to read upon her features whether or not she is looking forward joyfully to becoming a wife? This is a simple question that we ask, but we will not undertake to answer it.

      Among the persons who had halted there, some in passing, others coming from the omnibus office, others on the way there, was a tall man, in the neighborhood of forty-five years, standing very straight, even bending back a little from the hips, with head erect, nose in air, and his hat on one side, in true roistering style.

      This person, whose chestnut hair was beginning to be sprinkled with gray, had very irregular features. His eyes were small and deep-set, of a pale green shade, but full of fire and animation. His nose was crooked, slightly turned up, and might almost have been called flat. His mouth was large, but his teeth were fine, and not one was missing; so that his smile was not unattractive, especially as he was not over lavish of it. His chin retreated slightly, his cheek-bones, as a contrast, were exceedingly prominent; his complexion was high-colored and blotched, although he was thin both in body and face. With this unpromising exterior, my gentleman seemed none the less to consider himself an Apollo. He wore bushy mutton-chop whiskers, which almost met in the middle of his chin, leaving between them only a very narrow space, cleanly shaven, which he often caressed with affection, and which he called his dimple. His manners denoted no less self-assurance than familiarity with the world; and they would even have borne some traces of refinement, had he not adopted a sort of mincing gait not unlike that of a drum-major; but, instead of a great baton, this gentleman had a slender switch, curved at the top, which seemed to have been painted and gilded long before, but had lost a large part of its decoration. It was a very pliable switch, with which he constantly tapped his trousers-legs.

      His costume did not indicate the dandy, although its wearer affected the manners of one. His linen trousers, of a very large check, seemed to have been cut from the skirt of some concierge. His waistcoat was also of a check pattern, but its colors did not harmonize at all with those of the trousers; nothing was wanting except the plaid to give him altogether the aspect of a Scotch Highlander; but, instead of the plaid, he wore a nut-brown frock-coat, with ample skirts, which he often left unbuttoned the better to display his slender figure, and in which he sometimes encased himself hermetically, as if it were a cloak. It is needless to say that this costume was entirely lacking in freshness.

      This personage, who had a habit of speaking always in a very loud tone, so that everybody could hear what he said and presumably be struck with admiration by his wit—a method of attracting attention which enables you to divine instantly the sort of man with whom you have to do—this personage pushed and jostled some of the loiterers, exclaiming:

      "What's all this? what's all this? a wedding party, eh? Mon Dieu! is a wedding party such a very strange thing that everybody must stop and push and crowd, to see the couple? Triple idiots of Parisians! On my word, one would think they had never seen such a thing before!"

      "What's that! what makes you push me so hard to get my place, if there's nothing to look at?" said a youngster in a blouse, whom the other had pushed away with some violence.

      "Who is it that presumes to speak to me? God forgive me! I believe that this little turnspit dares to complain! Look out that I don't teach you whom you are talking to!"

      "In the first place, I ain't a turnspit; do you hear, you long flag-pole?"

      That epithet caused the gentleman in the Scotch nether garments to quiver with rage; he threw himself back and raised his cane, and, in the course of that evolution, trod on the feet of an old woman who stood behind him leading a small dog, which was doing its best to avoid being present at the arrival of the wedding party.

      "Ah! monsieur, take care, for heaven's sake! you're treading on me. A little more, and you'd have crushed Abdallah!"

      "Very sorry, madame; but I have no eyes

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