“By the way,” he said, “have you thought of asking permission from the Prefect of Police to construct your theatre?” “Not yet,” I replied, quietly. “It cannot be refused me, as this construction makes no change in the architectural arrangements of the house.” “That is possible,” Antonio added, “but in your place I would take this step immediately, that no difficulty may occur when it is too late.” I followed his advice, and we went together to M. X----‘s office, who then had the direction of theatrical affairs. After an hour waiting, we were introduced to the head of the office, who, being at the moment engaged in some interesting reading, did not seem even to notice our presence. In ten minutes, however, M. X---- laid down his book, opened and shut a few drawers, called his clerk, gave orders, lifted his spectacles, and made us a sign that he was ready to hear a sentence which I had already commenced twice or thrice without being able to end it. This impertinent coolness made my blood boil; still I said, as politely as my vexation would allow me, “I have come, sir, to ask your permission to open a room for performances of magic and sleight-of-hand in the Palais Royal.” “Sir,” the head of the office replied, very dryly, “if you have chosen the Palais Royal for your performance, I can tell you you will not obtain permission.” “Why so, sir?” I said, in consternation. “Because a ministerial decree forbids any new establishment being opened there.” “But pray consider, sir, that, not being aware of this decision, I have taken a room on a long lease, and my theatre is at this moment being built. The refusal of this permission will be my ruin. What can I do now?” “That is not my business,” the bureaucrat replied, disdainfully; “I am not a theatrical agent.” With these words M. X----, after the method employed by solicitors and physicians to announce that a consultation is over, rose, led us to the door, and, himself opening it, showed us clearly what we had to do. Antonio and myself, equally in despair, remained for more than an hour at the door of the Prefecture, vainly taxing our brains how to escape from this difficulty. With all our reasoning, we always arrived at the mournful conclusion that we could do no less than stop the building, and compound with B---- to take the lease off my hands. It was my ruin, Antonio understood as well as I, and he could offer me no consolation. “But, stay,” he said suddenly, striking his forehead, “I have an idea. Tell me, during the late exhibition, did you not sell a ‘mysterious clock’ to M. Benjamin Delessert, a banker?” “Well, suppose I did, what has that to do with----“ “What! do you not understand me? M. Delessert is brother of the Prefect of Police. Go and see him; he is said to be good hearted, perhaps he will give you good advice, or even better than that. If he would speak to his brother on your behalf, we should be saved, for M. Gabriel Delessert is omnipotent in theatrical matters.”