Then he walked down-stairs and found his English-speaking waiter.
"Where's President Loubet?" he asked.
"Ze President! Ah, he is wiz his mansion. To be at his residence, M'sieur."
"Where is his residence?"
The waiter began a series of voluble and explicit directions which so confused the boy that he exclaimed:
"Oh, much obliged!" and walked away in disgust.
Gaining the street he approached a gendarme and repeated his question, with no better result than before, for the fellow waved his arms wildly in all directions and roared a volley of incomprehensible French phrases that conveyed no meaning whatever.
"If ever I travel in foreign countries again," said Rob, "I'll learn their lingo in advance. Why doesn't the Demon get up a conversation machine that will speak all languages?"
By dint of much inquiry, however, and after walking several miles following ambiguous directions, he managed to reach the residence of President Loubet. But there he was politely informed that the President was busily engaged in his garden, and would see no one.