HOST. The word "artists" ought to suffice. COMMISSAIRE. I will decide on the word "subjects"--that the entertainments which your subjects provide transgress in every sense the limits the laws allow. Speeches are said to be delivered by your--what shall I say?--by your artist-criminals which--what does my information say?--(he reads from a notebook, as he had been doing previously) which are calculated to produce not only an immoral effect, which would bother us but little, but a highly seditious effect--a matter to which the authorities absolutely cannot be indifferent, at a time so agitated as the one in which we live. HOST. M. le Commissaire, I can only answer that accusation by politely inviting you to see the thing just once for yourself. You will observe that nothing of a seditious nature takes place here, if only because my audience will not permit itself to be made seditious. There is simply a theatrical performance here, that is all. COMMISSAIRE. I naturally cannot accept your invitation, but I will stay here by virtue of my office. HOST. I think I can promise you a first-class entertainment, M. le Commissaire; but I will take the liberty of advising you to doff your official garb and to appear here in civilian clothes. If people actually saw a Commissaire in uniform here, both the spontaneity of my artists and the mood of my audience would suffer thereby. COMMISSAIRE. You are right, M. Prosper; I will go away and come back as an elegant young man. HOST. You will have no difficulty about that, M. le Commissaire. You would be welcomed here even as a vagabond--that would not excite attention--but not as a Commissaire. COMMISSAIRE. Good-by. (Starts to go.) HOST (bowing). When will the blessed day come when I can treat you and your damned likes--? [The COMMISSAIRE meets GRAIN in the doorway. GRAIN is in absolute rags and gives a start when he sees the COMMISSAIRE. The latter looks at him first, smiles, and then turns courteously to HOST.] COMMISSAIRE. One of your artists already? [Exit.] GRAIN (whining pathetically). Good evening. HOST (after looking at him for a long time). If you're one of my troupe, I won't grudge you my recognition ... of your art, because I don't recognize you. GRAIN. What do you mean? HOST. No jests now; take off your wig; I'd rather like to know who you are. (He pulls at his hair.) GRAIN. Oh, dear! HOST. But 'tis genuine! Heavens--who are you? You appear to be a real ragamuffin. GRAIN. I am! HOST. What do you want of me? GRAIN. Have I the honor of speaking to Citizen Prosper?--the host of The Green Cockatoo? HOST. I am he. GRAIN. My name is Grain, sometimes Carniche--very often Shrieking Pumice-stone; but I was sent to prison, Citizen Prosper, under the name of Grain, and that is the real point. HOST. Ah, I understand. You want to play in my establishment and start off with playing me. Good. Go on.