bowed very civilly, asked the clerk a number
of questions about a case which was to come on the same day.

"Good-bye, M. Mechinet," said the young advocate.

And his next visit was to Dr. Seignebos. When he rang the bell, a
servant came to the door, and said,--

"The doctor is gone out; but he will be back directly, and has told me
to beg you to wait for him in his study."

Such an evidence of perfect trust was unheard of. No one was ever
allowed to remain alone in his sanctuary. It was an immense room, quite
full of most varied objects, which at a glance revealed the opinions,
tastes, and predilections of the owner. The first thing to strike the
visitor as he entered was an admirable bust of Bichat, flanked on either
side by smaller busts of Robespierre and Rousseau. A clock of the time
of Louis XIV. stood between the windows, and marked the seconds with a
noise which sounded like the rattling of old iron. One whole side was
filled with books of all kinds, unbound or bound, in a way which would
have set M. Daubigeon laughing very heartily. A huge cupboard adapted
for collections of plants bespoke a passing fancy for botany; while an
electric machine recalled the time when the doctor believed in cures by
electricity.

On the table in the centre of the room vast piles of books betrayed the
doctor's recent studies. All the authors who have spoken of insanity
or idiocy were there, from Apostolides to Tardien. M. Folgat was still
looking around when Dr. Seignebos entered, always like a bombshell, but
far more cheerful than usual.

"I knew I should find you here!" he cried still in the door. "You come
to ask me to meet Goudar."

The young advocate started, and said, all amazed,--

"Who can have told you?"

"Goudar himself. I like that man. I am sure no one will suspect me of
having a fancy for any thing that is connected with the police. I have
had too much to do all my life with spies and that ilk. But your man
might almost reconcile me with that department."

"When did you see him?"

"This morning at seven. He was so prodigiously tired of losing his
time in his garret at the Red Lamb, that it occurred to him to
pretend illness, and to send for me. I went, and found a kind of
street-minstrel, who seemed to me to be perfectly well. But, as soon
as we were alone, he told me all about it, asking me my opinion, and
telling me his ideas. M. Folgat, that man Goudar is very clever: I tell
you so; and we understand ea