"Why?" I asked.
"Because Charenton lies the other way," he replied, politely, and passed on to sell his tickets.
Now I had forgotten much concerning Paris in my twenty years of absence.
There was a pretty girl sitting on the bench beside me, with elbows resting on the railing behind. I glanced at her. She was smiling.
"Pardon, madame," said I, knowing enough to flatter her, though she had "mademoiselle" written all over her complexion of peaches and cream—"pardon, madame, but may I, a stranger, venture to address you for a word of information?"
"You may, monsieur," she said, with a smile which showed an edge of white teeth under her scarlet lips.
"Then, if you please, where is Charenton?"
"Up the river," she replied, smiling still.
"And what," said I, "is the principal feature of the town of Charenton?"
"The Lunatic Asylum, monsieur."