On the appointed Wednesday, Eusebe, Daniel Clamens, and Paul Buck
arrived at Versailles. As the hour fixed for the hearing had not
yet come, the three friends took a stroll through the city before
repairing to the court-room.
“Is that what you call the _Palais de Justice_?” inquired Eusebe,
pointing to a building of rather pitiful appearance.
“Yes,” responded Clamens.
“You said to me, on the way,” rejoined the lover of Adéonne,
“that justice was the first of established powers. One could have
very little reason to question that, if he compared the palace of
justice with that of a king.”
“We have in France,” said Paul, “but ten palaces for kings, while
for justice there are more than five hundred, in which she condemns
more in a day than a monarch could pardon in a year.”
“Fortunately for society, messieurs,” said the Commandant de Vic,
who had just arrived, and who was followed by MM. de la Soulaye
and de Buffières.
The first step Justice takes in the punishment of duellists is
to bring them together in her ante-chamber. But for the profound
respect the French profess for her, conflicts might be renewed
there. It is true, nevertheless, that the custom, which might be
attended with grave consequences, has often a wholesome effect.
Adversaries often shake hands at the moment they are about to
appear before the judge.
M. de la Soulaye, perceiving the lover of Adéonne, saluted him
courteously, and offered his hand.
Eusebe bowed, but did not respond to the advance made by his late
antagonist.
“Monsieur,” said the Commandant de Vic, frowning, “I have the honor
to call your attention to the fact that M. de la Soulaye offers you
his hand.”
“I do not wish to offer him mine,” replied Eusebe, “and am sorry
that you compel me to say so.”
The officer, fired by this curt repulse, advanced, as if he
meditated a quarrel; but M. de Buffières restrained him.
“You are too condescending, commandant,” said the latter, “in
paying any attention to this rustic.”
On their part, Paul Buck and Daniel Clamens reproached Eusebe with
his want of courtesy.
At this moment, three gendarmes entered, escorting three men with
villainous countenances, who were seated near the actors in the
duel at Peck.
“What!” exclaimed Eusebe; “you wish to persuade me that I would act
like a well-bred man in giving my hand to a rogue who has slandered
a lady, who has tried to kill me, and, in addition, is the cause
of our being brought to this disagreeable place, here to await
condemnation, in company with three thieves? I cannot credit such
a monstrosity of meanness; and I would rather pass for the worst
blackguard in the world than touch a finger of the villain.”
MM. de la Soulaye, de Vic, and de Buffières were first called into
the presence of the magistrate, who kept them away for nearly three
hours.
Eusebe bit his nails with fierce impatience during this vexatious
delay. Clamens, pencil in hand, occupied himself in composing
couplets upon the incidents in which he had recently figured. Paul
Buck speculated with one of the gendarmes on the philosophy of
history.
“Monsieur,” said one of the thieves to Eusebe, “won’t you please
to give me a little tobacco? I have not smoked for more than four
months.”
“I have no tobacco,” responded Martin, “but I have some cigars,
which, if these gentlemen will permit me, I will give you
willingly.”
“Give them to him, if you wish,” said one of the gendarmes. “It
ought not to be allowed; but”----and the officer shrugged his
shoulders.
The three young men then emptied their cigar-cases, and slipped
some money into the hands of the malefactors. The ice was broken.
“Why were you arrested?” asked Paul Buck of a thief who had just
been gladdened with three cigars and two francs.
“Oh, I have been jugged by mistake,” replied the bandit, with a
voice of sinister tone.
“It was the seventh time that Justice was deceived in your case,”
dryly observed a gendarme.
“As for the other times,” rejoined the rogue, “I have nothing to
say; but for this, as true as you are an honest man, monsieur, I am
innocent. I didn’t do it.”
“If it was not you, it was your brother,” said the gendarme,
sententiously.
“By my faith,” said the man, “that’s worth thinking of: it might be
so. I will just mention that to the judge.”
“And you,” said Eusebe to a second rogue, “are you also charged
with robbery?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Who or what could have led you to rob?”
“You shall hear. My story is a very simple one. I was only nineteen
years old when I fell in love with a young girl residing in my
native province. One day she asked me to bring her some flowers; it
was the day after the festival of Sainte-Marie, and she wished to
cover the altar with flowers, so that the Blessed Virgin would be
favorable to us. Her parents troubled themselves but little about
our union. I had neither garden nor flowers. Night came, and I took
a stroll. When all the village was sound asleep, I reached the wall
of a garden adjoining that of the Maire----”
“Robbery, with escalade, at midnight, in an inhabited house: five
years in irons,” interrupted a gendarme.
“That is the penalty,” resumed the bandit; “but as I was young,
had good antecedents, and the booty was only a few roses, which,
sooner or later, would have been offered to the Virgin, I was let
off with imprisonment for three years. When the term of my sentence
expired, I found my mistress a wife. While in prison I had learned
the theory of crime; and, as I was now an outcast on account of
having been a convict, I was forced to commence its practice.”
“And you, old fellow,” demanded Clamens of the third criminal, “why
did you steal?”
“From taste,” was the laconic reply.
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the gendarme, “there are all sorts of taste
in human nature.”