Where am I to find them?
I know, let's be off to the crossroads of Providence." This was the name bestowed by Rodolphe on the most central point in Paris, that is to say, the Palais Royal, a spot where it is almost impossible to remain ten minutes without meeting ten people of one's acquaintance, creditors above all.

Rodolphe therefore went and stationed himself at the entrance to the Palais Royal.

This time Providence was long in coming.

At last Rodolphe caught sight of it.

Providence had a white hat, a green coat, and a gold headed cane--a well dressed Providence.
It was a rich and obliging fellow, although a phalansterian.
"I am delighted to see you," said he to Rodolphe, "come and walk a little way with me; we can have a talk." "So I am to have the infliction of the phalanstere," murmured Rodolphe, suffering himself to be led away from the wearer of the white hat, who, indeed, phalanstered him to the utmost.
As they drew near the Pont des Arts Rodolphe said to his companion-- "I must leave you, not having sufficient to pay the toll." "Nonsense," said the other, catching hold of Rodolphe and throwing two sous to the toll keeper.
"This is the right moment," thought the editor of "The Scarf of Iris," as they crossed the bridge.