Early the next morning.  Mr. Jorrocks and the Yorkshireman, accompanied by the commissionnaire of the Hotel d’Orleans, repaired to the upper town, for the purpose of obtaining passports, and as they ascended the steep street called La grand Rue, which connects the two towns, they held a consultation as to what the former should be described.  A “Marchand-Epicier” would obtain Mr. Jorrocks no respect, but, then, he objected to the word “Rentier.”  “What is the French for fox-’unter?” said he, after a thoughtful pause, turning to his dictionary.  There was no such word.  “Sportsman, then?  Ay, Chasseur! how would that read?  John Jorrocks, Esq., Chasseur,—­not bad, I think,” said he.  “That will do,” replied the Yorkshireman, “but you must sink the Esquire now, and tack ‘Monsieur’ before your name, and a very pretty euphonious sound ‘Monsieur Jorrocks’ will have; and when you hear some of the little Parisian grisettes lisp it out as you turn the garters over on their counters, while they turn their dark flashing eyes over upon you, it will be enough to rejuvenate your old frame.  But suppose we add to ‘Chasseur’—­’Member of the Surrey Hunt?’” “By all means,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, delighted at the idea, and ascending the stairs of the Consulate three steps at a time.

The Consul, Mons. De Horter, was in attendance sitting in state, with a gendarme at the door and his secretary at his elbow. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” said he, bowing, as Mr. Jorrocks passed through the lofty folding door; to which our traveller replied, “The top of the morning to you, sir,” thinking something of that sort would be right.  The Consul, having scanned him through his green spectacles, drew a large sheet of thin printed paper from his portfolio, with the arms of France placed under a great petticoat at the top, and proceeded to fill up a request from his most Christian Majesty to all the authorities, both civil and military, of France, and also of all the allied “pays,” “de laisser librement passer” Monsieur John Jorrocks, Chasseur and member of the Hont de Surrey, and plusieurs other Honts; and also, Monsieur Stubbs, native of Angleterre, going from Boulogne to Paris, and to give them aid and protection, “en cas de besoin,” all of which Mr. Jorrocks —­like many travellers before him—­construed into a most flattering compliment and mark of respect, from his most Christian Majesty to himself.

Under the word “signalement” in the margin, the Consul also drew the following sketch of our hero, in order, as Mr. Jorrocks supposed, that the King of the Mouncheers might know him when he saw him: 

  “Age de 52 ans
  Taille d’un metre 62 centimetres
  Perruque brun
  Front large
  Yeux gris-sanguin
  Nez moyen
  Barbe grisatre
  Vizage ronde
  Teint rouge.”

He then handed it over to Mr. Jorrocks for his signature, who, observing the words “Signature du Porteur” at the bottom, passed it on to the porter of the inn, until put right by the Consul, who, on receiving his fee, bowed him out with great politeness.