"Well, monsieur," said the corpulent dame, pulling over her eldest son's eyes a small gray felt hat, with a Henri IV crown, and surrounded on all sides by feathers which drooped like palm-leaves; "we can get tickets for Romainville, I hope?"
"We don't sell tickets for Romainville, madame, but for Belleville; there you'll find the Romainville stage."
"Oh! you don't sell tickets for Romainville here; that's very unpleasant. Shall we have to pay again when we change?"
"Yes, madame; but if you take checks, it will be only four sous twenty centimes."
"For each?"
"That's very dear. Narcisse, do pull your hat down, or you'll lose it; you know it fell off just now on the boulevard, and somebody almost stepped on it; your fine Henri IV hat is very pretty, you know."
"I hate it; the feathers make me squint."
"Hold your tongue, bad boy; your aunt bought that hat for you; you won't get another for two years!"
"Take off the feathers, then!"