302
NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS.
"Measuring butter?" thought Berthelini. "Oh, France, and it is for this that we made '93!"
The preparations were soon made; the bills posted, programmes laid on the dinner-table of every hotel in the town, and a stage erected at one end of the Café the Triumphs of the Plough; but when Leon returned to the office, the Commissary was once more abroad.
"He is like Madame Benoiton," thought Leon, "Fichu Commissaire!"
And just then he met the man face to face.
"Here, sir," said he, "are my papers. Will you be pleased to verify?"
But the Commissary was now intent upon dinner.
"No use," he replied, "no use; I am busy; I am quite satisfied. Give your entertainment."
And he hurried on.
"Fichu Commissaire!" thought Leon.
