"You goin' take dat lett' to Sylvestre?"
"Yes."
"'Sieur Frowenfel', dat de wrong g-way. You got to take it to 'Polyte Brahmin-Mandarin, an' 'e got to take it to Valentine Grandissime, an' 'e got to take it to Sylvestre. You see, you got to know de manner to make. Once 'pon a time I had a diffycultie wid--"
"I see," said Frowenfeld; "where may I find Hippolyte Brahmin-Mandarin at this time of day?"
Raoul shrugged.
"If the pre-parish-ions are not complitted, you will not find 'im; but if they har complitted--you know 'im?"
"By sight."
"Well, you may fine him at Maspero's, or helse in de front of de Veau-qui-tête, or helse at de Café Louis Quatorze--mos' likely in front of de Veau-qui-tête. You know, dat diffycultie I had, dat arise itseff from de discush'n of one of de mil-littery mov'ments of ca-valry; you know, I--"
"Yes," said the apothecary; "here, Raoul, is some money; please go and buy me a good, plain hat."
"All right." Raoul darted behind the counter and got his hat out of a drawer. "Were at you buy your hats?"