"Upon my word of honour," mused Petitpas, rubbing his hands, "I believe
I see a Genius in the dumps! At last I behold the Paris of my dreams.
If I have read my Murger to any purpose, I am on the verge of an epoch.
What a delightful adventure!"

Taking out his Marylands, Petitpas sauntered towards the bench with a
great show of carelessness, and made a pretence of feeling in his
pockets for a match. "Tschut!" he exclaimed; then, affecting to observe
Tricotrin for the first time, "May I beg you to oblige me with a light,
monsieur?" he asked deferentially. A puff of wind provided an excuse
for sitting down to guard the flame; and the next moment the Genius had
accepted a cigarette, and acknowledged that the weather was mild for
the time of year.

Excitement thrilled Petitpas. How often, after business hours, he had
perused his well-thumbed copy of _La Vie de Boheme_ and in fancy
consorted with the gay descendants of Rodolphe and Marcel; how often he
had regretted secretly that he, himself, did not woo a Muse and jest at
want in a garret, instead of totting up figures, and eating three meals
a day in comfort! And now positively one of the fascinating beings of
his imagination lolled by his side! The little clerk on a holiday
longed to play the generous comrade. In his purse he had a couple of
louis, designed for sight-seeing, and, with a rush of emotion, he
pictured himself squandering five or six francs in half an hour and
startling the artist by his prodigality.

"If I am not mistaken, I have the honour to address an author,
monsieur?" he ventured.