uncheon,
without any hurry, at the wine shop down there, I look up my route with
a plan of Paris, and the time table of the lines and connections. And
then I climb up on the box, open my umbrella and off we go. Oh, I see
lots of things, more than you, I bet! I change my surroundings. It is
as though I were taking a journey across the world, the people are so
different in one street and another. I know my Paris better than anyone.
And then, there is nothing more amusing than the entresols. You would
not believe what one sees in there at a glance. One guesses at domestic
scenes simply at sight of the face of a man who is roaring; one is
amused on passing by a barber's shop, to see the barber leave his
customer whose face is covered with lather to look out in the street.
One exchanges heartfelt glances with the milliners just for fun, as one
has no time to alight. Ah, how many things one sees!

"It is the drama, the real, the true, the drama of nature, seen as the
horses trot by. Heavens! I would not give my excursions in the omnibus
for all your stupid excursions in the woods."

"Come and try it, Mongilet, come to the country once just to see."

"I was there once," he replied, "twenty years ago, and you will never
catch me there again."

"Tell us about it, Mongilet."

"If you wish to hear it. This is how it was:

"You knew Boivin, the old editorial clerk, whom we called Boileau?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"He was my office chum. The rascal had a house at Colombes and always
invited me to spend Sunday with him. He would say:

"'Come along, Maculotte [he called me Maculotte for fun]. You will see
what a nice excursion we will take.'

"I let myself be entrapped like an animal, and set out, one morning by
the 8 o'clock train. I arrived at a kind of town, a country town where
there is nothing to see, and I at length found my way to an old wooden
door with an iron bell, at the end of an alley between two walls.

"I rang, and waited a long time, and at last the door was opened. What
was it that opened it? I could not tell at the first glance. A woman or
an ape? The creature was old, ugly, covered with old clothes that looked
dirty and wicked. It had chicken's feathers in its hair and looked as
though it would devour me.

"'What do you want?' she said.

"'Mr. Boivin.'

"'What do you want of him, of Mr. Boivin?'

"I felt ill at ease on being questioned by this fury. I stammered:
'Why-he expects me.'

"'Ah, it is you