superior manner, and
answered in a stern voice:

"Monsieur, the Republic is the government."

His neighbor was not in the least disturbed, and, pushing his hands down
in his pockets, he exclaimed:

"Well, and what then? It makes no difference to me. Whether it's for the
Republic or something else, I don't care! What I want, monsieur, is to
know my government. I saw Charles X. and adhered to him, monsieur; I saw
Louis-Philippe and adhered to him, monsieur; I saw Napoleon and adhered
to him; but I have never seen the Republic."

Patissot, still serious, answered:

"The Republic, monsieur, is represented by its president!"

The other grumbled:

"Well, them, show him to me!"

Patissot shrugged his shoulders.

"Every one can see him; he's not shut up in a closet!"

Suddenly the fat man grew angry.

"Excuse me, monsieur, he cannot be seen. I have personally tried more
than a hundred times, monsieur. I have posted myself near the Elysee; he
did not come out. A passer-by informed me that he was playing billiards
in the cafe opposite; I went to the cafe opposite; he was not there. I
had been promised that he would go to Melun for the convention; I went
to Melun, I did not see him. At last I became weary. I did not even see
Monsieur Gambetta, and I do not know a single deputy."

He was, growing excited:

"A government, monsieur, is made to be seen; that's what it's there for,
and for nothing else. One must be able to know that on such and such
a day at such an hour the government will pass through such and such a
street. Then one goes there and is satisfied."

Patissot, now calm, was enjoying his arguments.

"It is true," he said, "that it is agreeable to know the people by whom
one is governed."

The gentleman continued more gently:

"Do you know how I would manage the celebration? Well, monsieur, I would
have a procession of gilded cars, like the chariots used at the crowning
of kings; in them I would parade all the members of the government, from
the president to the deputies, throughout Paris all day long. In that
manner, at least, every one would know by sight the personnel of the
state."

But one of the toughs near the coachman turned around, exclaiming:

"And the fatted ox, where would you put him?"

A laugh ran round the two benches. Patissot understood the objection,
and murmured:

"It might not perhaps be very dignified."

The gentleman thought the matter over and admitted it.

"Then," he