"Where are they going, monsieur?"
"They don't know, mademoiselle. Palais Bourbon, Place de la Concorde,—anywhere it happens to be lively enough to suit. But where have you been, mademoiselle, to not know,—in the country?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And where are you going?"
"Place de la Concorde."
"Don't do it, little one,—don't you do it! It is not a place for a mite like you on such a day. Take my advice,—go anywhere else."
"I'm going to the Place de la Concorde, monsieur," she responded, quite stiffly.
When she reached the great plaza, however, she found it practically deserted. The usual throngs of carriages were passing to and fro. Immense black crowds blocked the Rue Royale at the Madeleine and in the opposite direction in the vicinity of the Palais Bourbon across the river. These crowds appeared to be held at bay by the cordons of police agents, who kept the Place de la Concorde clear and pedestrians moving lively in the intersecting streets.
Fouchette hopped nimbly off the steps of the omnibus she had taken at le Châtelet, to the amusement of a gang of hilarious students from the Latin Quarter, who recognized in her the "tenderfoot."
The Parisienne always leaves the omnibus steps with her back to the horses. This keeps American visitors standing around looking for a mishap which never happens; for the Parisienne is an expert equilibrist and can perform this feat while the vehicle is at full speed, not only with safety but with an airy grace that is often charming.