Bertrand. I beg your pardon, I—(Gives papers.)
Brigadier. Your name?
Bertrand. Napoleon.
Brigadier. What? In your passport it is written Bertrand.
Bertrand. It’s this way: I was born Bertrand, and then I took the name of Napoleon, and I mostly always call myself either Napoleon or Bertrand.
Brigadier. The truth is always best. Your profession?
Bertrand. I am an orphan.
Brigadier. What the devil! (To Macaire.) Is your friend an idiot?
Macaire. Pardon me, he is a poet.
Brigadier. Poetry is a great hindrance to the ends of justice. Well, take your papers.