One serious obstacle stood in the way.  His only window looked out on a courtyard, a narrow, dark shaft, where only the rats could have seen his three Japanese lanterns.

He needed a public opening.  He found it.  On the first floor of his house lived a rich man, a nobleman and a royalist, whose coachman, also a reactionary, occupied a garret-room on the sixth floor, facing the street.  Monsieur Patissot supposed that by paying (every conscience can be bought) he could obtain the use of the room for the day.  He proposed five francs to this citizen of the whip for the use of his room from noon till midnight.  The offer was immediately accepted.

Then he began to busy himself with the decorations.  Three flags, four lanterns, was that enough to give to this box an artistic appearance—­to express all the noble feelings of his soul?  No; assuredly not!  But, notwithstanding diligent search and nightly meditation, Monsieur Patissot could think of nothing else.  He consulted his neighbors, who were surprised at the question; he questioned his colleagues—­every one had bought lanterns and flags, some adding, for the occasion, red, white and blue bunting.

Then he began to rack his brains for some original idea.  He frequented the cafes, questioning the patrons; they lacked imagination.  Then one morning he went out on top of an omnibus.  A respectable-looking gentleman was smoking a cigar beside him, a little farther away a laborer was smoking his pipe upside down, near the driver two rough fellows were joking, and clerks of every description were going to business for three cents.

Before the stores stacks of flags were resplendent under the rising sun.  Patissot turned to his neighbor.

“It is going to be a fine celebration,” he said.  The gentleman looked at him sideways and answered in a haughty manner: 

“That makes no difference to me!”

“You are not going to take part in it?” asked the surprised clerk.  The other shook his head disdainfully and declared: 

“They make me tired with their celebrations!  Whose celebration is it?  The government’s?  I do not recognize this government, monsieur!”

But Patissot, as government employee, took on his 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: