Meanwhile, the individual who wished to go to Place Cadet had left the office; then he halted on the square, looking about him with a confused air. He spied the stout woman sitting on a bench, between Messieurs Narcisse and Aristoloche, one of whom was trying all the time to push away the feathers that adorned the front of his hat, while the other confined his energies to persistently stuffing one of his fingers into his nose. Our friend went up to the dame and said, 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?"