Brigadier. No, but what is your trade?
Macaire. I am an analytical chemist.
Brigadier. Justice is inscrutable. Your papers are in order. (To Bertrand.) Now, sir, and yours?
Bertrand. I feel kind of ill.
Macaire. Bertrand, this gentleman addresses you. He is not one of us; in other scenes, in the gay and giddy world of fashion, one is his superior. But to-day he represents the majesty of law; and as a citizen it is one’s pride to do him honour.
Brigadier. Those are my sentiments.
Bertrand. I beg your pardon, I——(Gives papers.)
Brigadier. Your name?
Bertrand. Napoleon.
Brigadier. What? In your passport it is written Bertrand.